January 28, 2015

Blizzard. A severe snowstorm with high winds and low visibility, also an overabundance or a deluge of something. Yup. I can vouch for both.

The wind howled all day yesterday, and low visibility? I’d say so! It snowed and blowed… and then blowed and snowed some more. Or should I say it blew and snew? Oh me! Well, you get my drift—oh that’s right! We had those too! [grin]

The driveway disappeared early in the day, as did the walkway, the bottom two steps of the porch, and most of my plantings. The hedges look like giant marshmallows this morning and every tree bough is heavy with icing.

During my rest-breaks-while-shoveling this morning, I noticed the tan house siding has new white swirls at the corners, and the front windows are beautifully painted in Swiss-Alps snow-scapes. Funny how a couple feet of snow changes the look of a place, there’s not one sign of all the weeds and spent perennials that didn’t get cleaned up last fall. Nope. Everything is clean and beautifully covered with fresh white fluff.

We have a resident robin this winter. Perhaps she chose to retire here at Hare Hollow. It’s not uncommon for some to stay back when the rest of them fly south, but research suggests that those, unable to migrate, will succumb to the cold and lack of food. As I looked out at the storm yesterday, I felt sad to think of Rosalie Robin and her valiant efforts to survive. So far the winter hadn’t been too bad, but it sure didn’t look good yesterday, and my hopes for her survival were dim.

I’m happy to report that as I opened the garage doors to a knee-high wall of white, I heard a familiar chirp-chirp chirr-up.

“Is that you, Rosaie?” I smiled, looking up to the highest branches of the cherry tree—her usual haunt. She wasn’t there. Nah! Probably not her. Our neighbor called last week to say they’d spotted robins in their yard. Likely it was one of them, along with my wishful thinking.

"Chirp-chirp. Chirrrr-rup. Cheer-up," she persisted, as if to encourage me in my endeavor. I paused, searching the cherry tree again. Nope. No Rosalie. In the maple maybe? Nope. No red-breasted winger there either. Back to work. This pattern repeated several times, the sound coming from so close I could hardly believe she wasn’t in that cherry tree just to my right.

Now we have several bird-houses hanging in that tree—in every tree for that matter! Mostly they are decorative, but the birds—and other creatures—do use them for shelter in the winter. Well, you might’ve guessed it—there in one of said dwellings, its hole well-chewed by a former resident, peeked out a most unlikely occupant with--dare I say it, a twinkle in her eye! Rosalie! Evidently she has taken shelter in the cherry tree condos, and she is alive and well!

How do I know it’s her? Well now I ask you, what migrating robin, just passing thru, would know about Hare Hollow Hospitality and take up residence in a bird house. Robins don’t use birdhouses according to bird experts, but Rosalie is the exception. Oh she won't raise any babies there, she's likely past baby-raising age anyway, but she's made herself quite the cozy winter home.

One smart bird, let me tell you! That cherry tree was laden with dried cherries. She chose her residence carefully and has been living on them all winter—of that I am certain since I’ve seen her there daily for a number of weeks. The supply is dwindling for sure, but hey! Spring is only 52 days away. (sigh)

Well, there’s a small shoveled path to the front door; I think we can get out of the driveway too, so enough for today. Weatherman says there’s more snow coming Friday, and again on Sunday night… and possibly next Thursday as well. Let’s see, fifty-two sleeps and it’ll be spring? What do you think, Rosalie? Can we make it through? I can only hope.