It’s April 23rd. This is the scene outside this morning:
No, it’s not going to stick. It’s just a subtle reminder from Mother Nature that in New England, you can’t be sure you’ve seen the last of the season’s snow until you can smell the sausages on the grill for the Fourth of July cookout.
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Yep. And even the Fourth is not vouchsafe in certain parts of the landscape. The top of Mount Washington, northern Maine, even the High Peaks of the Adirondacks can get a dusting any time during the “summer” months.
It’s not called “Far-Off Frozen Cold North Yankee Land” for nothin’, you know.
Looks stuck to me. You mean not on the roads and stuff?
won’t stick means it likely won’t last past noon give or take. We got lucky here, the last couple times white stuff has fallen it hasn’t lasted on the ground for more than a few minutes.
That’s gotta be a downer during spring cleaning.
Heh, reminds of a lady friend & mining engineer who told me when she decided to get a PhD and teach mining:
She was sitting in a bar in the coal mining town in Northern BC, sipping a beer & chatting with a phlegmatic and toothless bartender , and realized that no-one else in the bar could spell defenestrate, even though they’d just given a fine classical demonstration of it to some low-life (Yes, the people demonstrating were not the low life in question) , and out through the now breezy window in the bright Jul15th evening, it was snowing.
It’s a sign from $DEITY that people aren’t really supposed to live there.
Oh, ATLien, you can live there if you are tough and grumpy. Those Puritans who first settled the place were both. As a Southern Scotch-Irish person, I think they were nuts, and my ancestors killed as many of them as they could during The War, but to no avail, it seems.