N'oreaster

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.

Snow!

It snowed last night. Not the wimpy, little dusting we've already had, but the real deal that we've been waiting for. I don't care how old you are or how jaded you've become. Around here this is special an the kid emerges from the basement of every soul. It SNOWED. It covered everything and we awoke to a sense of softness, sounds made dimmer by the thick layer on the house. Morning light was more pearly and had no sharp angles to it. There as a smell... a slight, softened edge to the air like springwater, but with no trace of green. If you live in New England or a place with a similar climate you know what I mean. You don't need to look outside to know it snowed. You rush to the window because you know already.

And there it is... a thick blanket (the dustings don't count) made for careening down hills, sliding over big back yards, and building monstrosities of white. Snowmen, snow houses, igloos, you name it. The holiday decorations are suddenly magical. Every nativity scene achingly beautiful. The boats in the harbor decked out in ridiculous lights, wreaths, santa hats... nobody embraces the winter like our local lobstermen. I think you have to be slightly insane to do the job anyway.

We deck our lighthouses with holly and bay. We greet N'oreasters with grins and hot cider (usually spiced with something suspiciously stronger than cinnnamon). We build snow-lobsters and snow-forts and have snowball fights with mailmen we've known for years. We're not right in the head, I guess.

Must be all the snow. :)