As is my wont, I spoke too soon when I said we wouldn't have a winter this year. The snow had held off and stored up as long as it could, waiting until after the days were already becoming longer again, and then unleashed a torrent as though from spite.
The onslaught was relentless over the course of four days last week. We went outside to shovel as many as five times each day, just so that we wouldn't lose sight of the car. (My bicycle, of course, was completely buried an inaccessible.) Still, we didn't dare try the road. Others more impetuous did, and got stuck, requiring a squad of pushers and shovelers to get them moving again.
At my house, we began to go stir crazy, but we had enough provisions to get us through, at least. On the fourth afternoon we went out to buy a different type of shovel, but all of the type we sought were sold out. We bought a different sort of implement, a kind of cross between a shovel and a sled, and it turned out most of the other customers were buying those, too.
Still, it snowed more. More vehicles got stuck. The newspapers reported that just at the edge of my neighbourhood, a truck driver lost his life when his tyres rolled over him in the process of trying to unstuck his vehicle. I didn't hear about it until later because I was stuck inside.
By that time, only the tips of my garden fence were visible. When more fell off the roof to mountain up around the edges of the house, it was deeper than I am tall.
It was the heaviest snowfall in 33 years.
At the time I type this, most of it has melted. Many of the garden plants have been crushed or broken, but kale survives, if a bit wilted. A number of people I know had their car bumpers damaged from backing into too-hard snow, and there's plenty of breakage seen in public property as well. It's over now, though, and the worst weather of 2017 is probably behind us.