The farm daddy is out feeding his herefords. They spent most of yesterday huddled up in the lee of the barn.
The truck is nearly buried, while the Admiral’s car has its own snow-garage. As you can see, drifts are six feet high in some places while the ground is bare in others.
Same with the roads. Local counties announced last night that they were suspending emergency response on rural roads, but 911 centers were staffed. I guess you could call them to tell them you were dying and get some advice about doing it in the least messy way possible. Don’t get all smug city people; I’d like to remind you that the same thing happened in New York City because the snow-plow union was on a work slowdown. Out here, at least we know to plan to be on our own for a day or two.
About a 1/2 mile down the road is a bottom (you know, that space between hills – we do have them in the Midwest) that’s about 20 feet deep. It’s completely filled with snow and the landscape looks flat. There is no picture because I’m not walking out there to take it.
On a personal note, our son-in-law was attending his first day of seminary in Kansas City, MO on Monday. He slipped on the ice, hit his head, and was knocked unconscious. When our daughter called to tell us about it, he was suffering from some memory loss and was headed for a CT scan. The Studmuffin packed up to drive into the teeth of the oncoming storm in order to be with them, but fortunately he was only an hour down the road when the test results came back okay. We’re thankful that his injuries weren’t much, much worse. Thirteen stitches to the temple should make for a sexy scar.
Let’s be careful out there.