It never ceases to amaze me that people will visit my little hamlet by the sea and fall in love with it... in June. Which is fine. Words like "quaint" get bandied about. Next thing you know some retired person decides to purchase a little cottage.
Yeah. Wait a bit.
We are in the midst of a N'oreaster. In local terms, that's "a wickid stawm offa tha wattah."
This morning I got up, cleaned off the car, and went to the post office. Locals (townies like me) were out and about. The transplanted people were absolutely wigging. Some of them in their driveways acting like snow is nuclear fallout. Some attempting to drive gigantic 4 wheel drive SUVs that are really good at GOING in bad weather, but absolutely dismal at STOPPING in bad weather. And, unfortunately, they don't come with a "fix the jerkwad's driving" button.
I drove around them in my normal-drive Nissan. Picked up my mail, sent out some mail, got dog food and bread, and visited Starbucks. I'm fine.
Most of them are in snowbanks or ditches... and the snowbanks are pretty wimpy. I'm hoping against all past experience that these people have realized that Green Harbor is "quaint" in the summer, but she's a bit of a nasty harpy in the winter. She's... well, she's like me. I, too, can be a harsh mistress. It's easy in the good times. Not so much in the midst of a N'oreaster.
Batten down the hatches, folks.