A Room with a View

Today has been the first day in eighteen days that I have not had to deal with clearing snow, either by reason of snowfall or blowing snow. My beloved partner has been sitting on a beach for all of that time. 

Well, dealing with snow and firewood is certainly one way to keep fit. It is also a way to do oneself harm. I think I am feeling the effects of both options.

This morning, as I sat in the comfort of my armchair by the fire, I could see the sun rising over the distant hill. The coffee tasted particularly good as it dawned on me, like the day, that I had nothing especially pressing to do. There was a fine mist floating high above the ground. The sky was a comfortable rose colour, indicating the blue sky that was to come later. The minus 22 Celsius I awoke to, rose to a comfortable, windless minus 10. Absolutely balmy by comparison to the temperatures we have been having.

But I am not someone to sit for long, unless I have a good book to read. And I had devoured two of them these past eighteen days. So passing by the kitchen window on the way for a second cup of coffee, I decided the cedar row we had planted along the roadside to the north many years ago was starting to obstruct our view of the countryside. The trees needed to be trimmed back. An easy task for a quiet day in the country.

After I had gathered my handsaw and clippers, I thought better of trudging through the waste deep snow and so I walked down the lane and along the roadside. These moderately sized trees now seemed like giants as I peered up at them. They had seemed so much smaller looking at them from the hilltop window. But then I realized the snow was crunchy hard by the road, piled high by the almost daily ploughing. This would make it easier. The snow pile was firm and a good six feet deep, which would take me a good way up the tree trunks. So I mounted the bank and felt quite smug, until the crust gave way and I sank hopelessly down to my chest. Not a good idea. But great exercise in attempting the escape from my icy encasing. A ladder would be needed.

So I trudged back along the road and up the hill to retrieve a tall step ladder. Once back by the cedar row, I went to grab the saw. It was right there I was sure. But it too had disappeared into the snow. After meticulous scanning with my hands I found it – or it found me – OUCH. Blood on snow is quite pretty really.

Alas, not to be daunted, I placed the ladder up against the first and smaller of the trees and managed quite well to lop of the top a good four feet from the peak. Until the ladder shifted ominously to the side and sank two feet at the same time, leaving me dangling by one hand to the trunk. I was glad my partner was not there to witness this. On the other hand, had he been there, I likely would not have found myself in this ridiculous situation.

Beginner’s mishap. And it was. I gained my feet and so did the ladder and I managed to lower the tops of the ten bushy trees that were most obstructive of our winter view. In the summer you see, there is other more abundant foliage that walls us snugly in and secures us from the world outside. We don’t mind that verdant seclusion. There are vistas still, but more discreet.