Return to Winter

We returned to Highlands last Thursday, watching the thermometer steadily drop the last few miles of the journey.  Although there were daffodils, hibiscus, and forsythia blooming in our yard, it was clearly still winter; the branches were bare (as they had not been in Eastern North Carolina) and the grass was just barely green.  Branches littered the yard, and a cold rain was forecast for Saturday morning.  But the rain did not materialize until later in the day and we completed six miles, slowly in my case, and wearing that knee brace.  It was nice to be back home again and to see at least three other runners out on the road in what has apparently been a diminished winter running group.

I remember that when we boarded our cat Coffee for shorter vacations than our Sabbatical, she would immediately upon being released from the car set about visiting every corner of the yard, and then every corner of the house.  And that is what I did on Saturday, circling around Harris Lake, but then running down Spring Street and back up Main Street, seeing all of the familiar places where we like to run, noticing the small changes.  I spotted some gravel in the Wright Square parking lot and at first thought it was broken whelk shells dropped by seagulls.

This morning there was light rain spattering on our windshield, and on the way up the mountain it started making that peculiar transformation to snow, little periods (. . .) turning into asterisks (***) on the glass, and then finally filling the air with wild flurries.  It was not sticking on the road, though, and it diminished throughout the day, and then the sun came out.

This is typical March weather in Highlands; it doesn't know whether it wants to be winter or spring.  But most of us still remember what happened 25 years ago when the "Blizzard of the Century" roared through these mountains on March 13, 1993.  Martha was in Raleigh with our only four-wheel-drive vehicle and I was stranded with a six-year-old daughter, without power for several days, firewood supply dwindling.  For many years after that, we would celebrate this "holiday" by turning off the main breaker on the electrical panel for a little while, scrunching up close in front of the fire, and remembering the sound of the wind howling outside.

A couple of days after the storm, we bought a hand-cranked generator, which we still own to this day and continue to use during power outages.  We are much better prepared in many ways today.  But I was remembering that the winter of 1993 was very similar to this one:  unusually warm in February, and then striking when everybody had been lulled into believing it was Spring.

Winter may still have a scene or two to play, waiting in the wings to make a surprise entrance onto the stage.