Sometimes February in Boston provides a classic New England winter with deep fluffy snow, narrow paths carved through the drifts, and a brilliant blue skies. Other Februaries are like this one. A thin crust of iron-hard frozen gunk covers the ground, sand covers the roads, and lawns are scarred from exuberant cowboy plow operators. It’s hard to imagine how much can change when you travel 120 miles due north.
There has been so much snow that the oil truck has not been able to drive down the access road to get to the house. We’re nursing about a half-tank of oil, keeping the thermostats low and relying on the wood stove and fireplace to maintain a livable temperature. The oil man is due again Monday and part of today’s job was to shovel a path from the driveway to the oil fill pipe–which is located about as far away from the driveway as can be.
In winter, it gets no better than this.