Carmella of the North

We woke up this morning to a glorious snowfall and brilliant blue skies. It really was a perfect six inches. Fluffy, easy to shovel (I am told) and arriving on an unscheduled Saturday morning. 

It fell steadily last night with no wind or ice -- although the news was still excited as ever. But I have noticed that as soon as any weather pattern moves in, every media outlet buzzes with dire predictions. Snownamis. Snowmageddon. "Whatever happened to snowfalls?" my Susan grouses every time.

Boy#2 (age 11) has a theory that human beings are wired deeply for stress. Back in the cave days, they had lots of things to worry about. "Now," Boy#2 muses, "we worry about little things like they are big things. Like homework. Or we make up stuff to worry about. Like zombie apocalypses." I think the weather is often that way for people. I also think people yearn for weather events that let them cancel all obligations without guilt and give them permission to just snuggle in for a few days.

This snowfall was hardly that. But it did get folks out with common purpose. They fired up their snowblowers, shovels and neighborly good will to clear the walks and roads so everyone could get on with their weekends. And it looks gorgeous!

My sultry Kentucky days are but a dim memory. I've been in Minnesota long enough now that I believe that I am true northern dog now. 

The trick is to keep moving.

This is my neighbor Johann. He is built for the North. 

I am built for jumping.

My Susan is six feet tall.
So you can see the power of the springs in my legs.

 All this is not to say that I don't love summer best of all.