We had been doomed and summoned to the bowels of Hell by the media weather sorcerers for days, but only about an inch accumulation accumulated, out of their predicted four and nuclear winter.
The conditions didn't get bad enough for the roads to ice, although I did see one of the flying squirrels living inside our walls denied clearance on the launch pad. He turned around and ambled back into the attic to safety, gnawing on our electrical wires.
What The Weather Channel called a "wintry mix" was enough to cover the ground all nice nice. So, while humming Leroy Anderson's "Sleigh Ride" and John Tesh's "Angels in the Snow," my wintry mix (James Brown's "Cold Sweat" not available), I snapped a few photographs.
That's my woodpile and my pickax chopping stump.
Rigorous.
Strenuous.
Lusty.
It's a prop.
I bought those logs in 1999.
