“What the hell?” I said this morning as I was preparing to leave. “Snow!”
Kris didn’t even respond. I’m always teasing her, telling her that it snowed the night before. I tell her this in February, I tell her this in June, I tell her this in October. It’s like the little boy who cried wolf.
“No way,” she said, but she came and looked outside with me. “Is it snowing now?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, but I was wrong.
Snow fell during most of my drive to work. The roads were thick and slushy. The pines and firs wore a light veil of the stuff. It felt like Christmas. (Or how I always wish Christmas would feel.) A grey fog clung to the hillsides along the highway, blending serenely with the the snowy woods. I’d grabbed my camera on the way out the door, and thought I ought to take a picture, but decided to wait ’til Good’s Bridge in Canby.
Unfortunately, the snow at Good’s Bridge was only a veneer; there was nothing photogenic. Further outside of town toward the shop, there was nearly no snow at all.
Perhaps there’ll still be some white spots when I make my return trip to Salem today. Perhaps I’ll drive through Silverton, so that I’m certain to see some snow.
(Note that while this is one of the latest snowfalls I’ve seen around here, it’s not actually the latest. That occurred on St. Patrick’s Day 2002. We woke in a yurt to find a light dusting outside.)