I have no idea when this picture was taken. I guess they sat up a tripod in the shoolhouse and snapped a shot. Let’s see – the schoolhouse has been gone for decades. Hey, I have a picture of it on a brick from the building; I’ll have to post that soon.

Often when the weather forecasts bode ill, I drawl out a “Wellllll . . .”  That is my way of acknowledging the possible storm tracks, wind or no wind, dry snow or wet snow or, ack, the dreaded snow/freezing rain mixture. BUT, we’re due and looking at the radar, it would be prudent to check our peanut butter supplies, locate the snow shovels, put salt in the back and front vestibules and line up some books – they don’t require electricity, dontcha know.

Schools are closed. The temperature is 16 degrees and snow is packed on the roads. Not that much yet, but it’s packed there, smoothed by the passage of the plows. I know because I took Alison to work for her 12-hour nursing shift at the hospital. They are telling the nurses they will come and get them if necessary; the part about coming home rides is uncertain. We may see her in a day or so.

So begins the “storm of historic proportions” aka “the monster storm” as it is being called. Even if we were to be sort of historically skimmed, other places nearby could be buried in drifts and it would be like Maine: You can’t get there from here.

We will see.

We have firewood and oil lamps and blankets and I’ve got a phone charger that works off the car . . . that now has a full tank of gas.

We are little piggies and we are waiting for the wolf.