s'no day

This is what they do after a hard day's work in deep snow. They're a great help--they make paths in the heavy snow. One to the bird feeder (must chase squirrels before eating sunflower seeds rejected or dropped by birds)--and that's a good one, very packed down and pretty wide. Another to get under the house--this path is a godsend to Kittie, since she likes using a litter box about as much as I like having one in the house. The ground is bare naked under the house. Sometimes I feel like crawling under there just to smell wet dirt. Mud is not wet dirt, wet dirt smells like spring. Another path goes past the burn barrel (I know, not legal to burn trash, but is it better to send it to the landfill? I only (mostly) burn paper), down to the woods, where they like to poop in private, and pee, getting their hoo-hoos wet when they squat. Another path goes down the driveway, where they run every time they think a) the bogeyman is coming, or b) someone fascinating who loves dogs is coming. Neither is true, most of the time. They bark every time the snow plow comes.

I can just see the blinking yellow lights of the plow through the trees from the deck. I can hear its rumbling as I sit in the living room. The town plowman is a wonderful man named Lee. Lots of times last names are irrelevant. Anyway, Lee also drives for the woman I buy firewood from, so he knows plenty about me. What I know about him isn't much: that he's a kind man who knows how to get to my house and knows that I need to leave for work early, so he plows the road at an early hour. He also knows my dogs, and how much firewood I have and where it's piled. The man who plows my driveway, named Donny because his father is Don, comes a little late sometimes, but he's very reliable. As opposed to other plowmen I've had. Donny came yesterday and we had our usual plow-time visit. Each time we talk we end by saying "It's a wonderful neighborhood, isn't it."

The neighborhood consists of an area of about maybe 10 square miles, with maybe 15 or so year-round residents. The population explodes in the summer, and we all enjoy our summer company (they are some of my best friends). It's a biannual adjustment: from no neighbors to lots of neighbors, from no cars on my road to lots of cars on my road. Ken and I always talked about it, around Memorial Day we'd say "Time for the crowds to come. Won't be long before there will be a lot of people here." After Columbus Day we'd say "Now it's just us." I think I live a nearly-perfect life. Even when I have no water I can enjoy my lifestyle. Donny once said "Well ... when you live alone and you're lonely ... " I never corrected him to say I'm NEVER lonely. I figure it's a good investment to have him think that, even though I don't like to have anyone think of me that way.