Bane, Thy Name is Snow

Monday, 15th of August, a polar blast travelled up New Zealand. Outcome: Snow.

Now there’s recently been a smattering of the falling white stuff around here before. That time, it came one afternoon and was gone by the next day. This time, we had flurries that went on for several days and took a fair few more to go (even now, there’s still bits where it hasn’t gone from the hills). The snow was a foot deep around our house and the roads … well our road and the hill leading to it were officially closed. Thank goodness for 4WDs.
If that had been all then it would’ve been a good, fun few days of snowmen and snowball fights. The snow melted to the point that driving out was possible by Wednesday, providing it was slow. By Thursday, if nothing else, the roads were clear. Friday brought rain, turning a large chunk of the hillside green. But nature had other plans before letting us go.
For on that very Monday, as it headed for 6pm, the power cut off (for two whole days). This lead first to cold pizza by candle-driven lanterns, then soup warmed by the victoriously brandished camp stove (I’ve now a new appreciation for soup. And spaghetti. Lovely stuff).
Before soup or camp stoves could be acquired, at around 9 or 10pm Monday as I was desperately trying to contact my other half and ward him off coming home, a tree gave in to the weight it hadn’t grown to hold and took out our phone lines.
No lines meant no way to connect to the outside world, except for one itty bitty blip of a cellphone signal. And getting this required the hopeful caller to stand in one precise part of our windy, riverbed-like driveway while the snow and wind has their way with whatever clothing it could get hold of. Joyous.

Already being someone who feels the cold and abhors winter, there is no doubt about it …
I hate snow.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s