The amount of snow that fell Tuesday and Wednesday didn’t seem that great, but the wind surely was, and elsewhere in the U.P. three feet of snow piled up and drifts grew twice that size. A stretch of one of the main highways was closed from Tuesday night until Thursday morning, which was the day I went to Marquette to check my candle display at the gallery.
It was Monday that the petunias bloomed. I had brought the pot in from the porch in the fall, putting it on a small table by a south window near the wood stove. And it was Tuesday morning that the guy who built this cabin stopped by on his way to Houghton. I learned more about the cabin’s early life, how it came to be, including that it was the trusses that decided the cabin’s size, a footprint of 20-by-25 feet, and that it’s thanks to his wive that the bathroom is not tucked under the stairs but rather sprawls out in a space that could have been a second bedroom.
|Trusses, October 2010.|
It seemed that all day Thursday, the day between blizzards, the day I went to Marquette, that the sky was falling, getting lower and lower, all day long, as if laden with a grief too grey and too heavy to bear.
It was Friday that was eerily still, and it was Friday that we were enveloped by a great heavy non-stop snow. Without wind, I don’t suppose one could call it a blizzard, but maybe there’s something called blizzard interruptus—a great wind, a great stillness, a great snow.
By Saturday afternoon the storms were over and I was ready to break new trails. I strapped on the snowshoes, tested Little Toe, all seemed well, but halfway around the loop we turned back. Little Toe wasn’t quite ready, after all, and back home there were candles to be made, beeswax and cinnamon wolves, destined for Canada.
|Potted petunias taking the air.|
Read last week’s post, or listen to it.