Susan and Ursa
Reports of snow and ice, of school and highway closures, of people stuck in their hilltop homes – mostly in the area from Portland to Astoria – began coming in on Thursday. By Friday, there were stories of treacherous road conditions at the south end of the Peninsula and Facebook friends warned “don’t go across the bridge if you don’t have to.”
Though the temperatures continued dropping in Oysterville and the wind chill factor brought temperatures down to eleven degrees, there was no snow here. “Definitely the banana belt of Pacific County,” we told one another. But it was cold here. Very cold.
Freezing Bay
In front of Oysterville, the bay was freezing a little bit more every day. With each outgoing tide, the shallowing water froze a little farther out causing people to think it had snowed just at the water’s edge. Frozen salt water is white and crunchy, though from afar it looks almost like thick foam – easily mistaken for snow. It doesn’t happen often – only during prolonged periods of low temperature and especially if the east wind is blowing. Which it was.
And, of course, when that wind blows over the frozen bay (even though it’s only a few dozen yards wide) it whistles right through the walls of our old bay-facing house. If it also happens that the power goes out, it is pretty miserable here, even with all fireplaces blazing. Fortunately, the electricity stayed steady and, at least in the west rooms, we were snug.
Warm and Cheery
The snow, when it came, was in big fluffy wet-looking flakes. The wind had pretty much died down by then so there wasn’t much drift and soon a white blanket covered the world outside. I was drawn to the window (but not beyond!) and at one point saw Susan in her big fur coat taking Ursa for a walk up the road. Susan looked intrepid; Ursa a bit tentative. Both were more adventurous than I.
As the daylight began to fade, Farmer Nyel went out to lock up the chickens. They were nowhere to be found. They had been out foraging in the garden before the snow began but they seemed to be long gone by evening. Although Nyel called and called, rattling the can of scratch all the while – usually a surefire method of gathering the flock – there was no response.
Coop and Run in the Snow
The good news is there was ‘nary a feather or chicken part in sight, either. Maybe, just maybe, they were confused by the snow and took refuge under the rhododendrons. It would be dry and dark there… Maybe, just maybe, the girls all found a safe haven and went to roost in the lower branches of the nearby cypress tree…
As soon as it’s light enough to go on the hunt, we’ll be out there with water and food and some reassuring clucking noises. Meanwhile, it has stopped snowing and we are holding good thoughts.
I hope the girls turn up unscathed! I love the picture of your fireplace with a fire going. It makes me want to sit there for a cup of tea and a chat.