This is a story about how you should listen to your parents. At least some of the time anyway.
Yesterday morning we were getting ready to visit my parents in Vermont when my Dad called to tell us not to come. We live in southern New Hampshire, my parents live about three hours away in Vermont, in a small town called ‘Middle of Nowhere’. It’s in a weird microclimate zone, a valley surrounded by snow covered hills, where it snows every other day from September through early April. There’s a snow storm coming, he said, and he didn’t want us to get stuck in his crazy snow zone. At least half of our planned trips there are called off due to impending blizzards. But at least half of the time it doesn’t actually end up snowing there anyway. The other half do end up being road closing snow storms though.
Ok, so we won’t make the trip. I thought that this was one of those times when he was being a little too cautious, but that’s OK, maybe it’s snowing there even if its not snowing here. I hadn’t heard that it was going to snow at all, but maybe I’m wrong. My Dad could probably tell from my doubtful tone of voice that I didn’t believe him this time. Sure, sure, Dad, we’ll just stay inside here and be safe, I said.
Two hours later, as Ms J and I were trying to decide what we should do instead; go for a hike, walk in the park, go to the Y? It started to snow here in New Hampshire. It did not stop until this morning. There’s about a foot of heavy wet snow on the ground. I read a report that more than a dozen cars were stranded on a major highway about two miles from us.
So it turned out to be a good idea to not leave the house at all. We made two huge snow men in the back yard. They’re about seven feet tall.
Now I have to wait for the phone call from my Dad asking how much snow we got from the storm he predicted yesterday.
(The one in the front looks more like a snow dog than a man, the one in the back must be the dog’s owner, waving for the dog to come back and get the leash back on.)