The Silence of the Snow

There is an eerie stillness and silence outside right now - no ambient noise of any kind, no wind, and no animal sounds. The area is expected to get snow in a few hours but, for now, there is nothing but deep silence blanketing the forest. It is rather strange as snow is not yet falling.

Scientifically speaking, falling snow absorbs sounds, decreasing ambient noise over any landscape; the minute and confined air between snowflakes lessens sound vibration. That’s why it is so quiet when it snows. 

And the snow eventually arrives soundlessly, dancing in the air at the mercy of wind gusts. The large flakes begin forming light at first and then heavy white blankets.

The silence of the falling, sticky snow is eventually shattered by limbs creaking, crashing in the woods with a loud thud, a collective sigh of nature burdened by the heavy, pristine white blanket. The trees look like white giants with droopy arms dragging the ground.

It is the first snow of winter 2025 with ten inches accumulation so far, and still falling hard. The hawkish wind is blowing it sometimes sideways, drifting in sudden gusts a few inches that fail to remove any significant amount of snow, already stuck like glue to the ground and on all horizontal surfaces no matter how small.

I am dressed like storybook Nanook of the North, in heavy wool sweater, thankful for the cozy heat from the twenty-first century’s furnace.

I am no longer freezing in flannel pajamas, wool pants, sweater, coat, gloves, and boots inside as I did during the communist regime when steamed heat, hot water, and electric or gas heaters were things only the loyal party members enjoyed on a constant basis in wintertime. That was my white privilege.

The windchill is at 10 degrees Fahrenheit and I am praying that electricity will stay on, as our Marxist politicians in Washington, D.C. have been pushing their green globalist agenda with reliance on erratic “green” energy from wind and solar. Right now, the wind is blowing but there is no sun. Fossil fuels and wood are what people can rely on dependably.

We are cutting down trees at alarming rates to make shipping boxes for an economy that has been forced from brick-and-mortar stores to home delivery due to the flu fearmongering broadcast non-stop on mainstream media, frightening people inside their homes for almost four years now. Hiding and cowering in fear has turned the American population into voluntary prisoners inside their own homes.

The roads in our neighborhood are impassable and nobody has come out yet to shovel their driveways, nor are there any road plows in sight to clear the roads. The schools closed yesterday, and people wondered if it was wise to do so after years of students learning little at home except how to play new online games, but people realize today with a sigh of relief that meteorologists were right this time. The popular saying, even broken clocks are right once a day, fits this weather forecast.

During my childhood, kids would have already been outside, sledding, skating, building snowmen, having snowball fights, however painful with wet snow, and squealing with joy and occasional pain from injury. By the end of the day, when the streetlights came on, and they went home reluctantly, their clothes were wet and frozen stiff on their bodies. The children of this current generation are snug inside, staring at a blue screen all day, getting their exercise surfing the television channels or their electronic devices, still dressed in their pajamas. They are weak and pampered and would be unable to survive the elements outside for any length of time.

The snow keeps falling in large flakes, the wind has died down, the birds are hiding, and the silence is peaceful.

 

 

Spring Snow

Last snow of the season today and the flakes are falling hard. The wind howls like the frigid wind called the Hawk, rapidly, whistling, and out of the grey sky, then dies down momentarily, only to pick up again with intense fury.

We have our own microclimate and wind tunnel which intensifies around our house. The wind blows from the river and picks up speed past the tree line, into the meadow and then up the hill.

I feel giddy watching snow fall in big flakes, like the kid long ago sticking my nose to the cold windowpane in excited expectation of enough inches of fluffiness to sled, make snowmen, and when it froze hard, skate.

Falling hard and repeatedly on patches of ice was no big deal in my childhood, but it echoes achingly in my joints on days like today when the weather turns so drastically from 70 degrees Fahrenheit to 12 degrees Fahrenheit in less than 24 hours.

Some birds are chirping excitedly, one brave squirrel is foraging for nuts in my garden, digging furiously, while deer and foxes are in hiding, taking shelter from the blustery temperatures. It’s hard to believe that it will be in the 80s F next week.

The wild cherry tree buds have fallen like a magenta blanket. They budded too early and the intense freeze killed them all. The Japanese magnolia buds are still hanging on for dear life. I hope they survive.

Global warmists must be giddy with excitement that the cold weather is "definitive proof" of their irrational fear mongering of climate Armageddon.

Snow and Food

Now that Sf. Ioan Botezatorul Orthodox traditions have ended on January 6, we are preoccupied with abundant snow and ice. The state park nearby is closed indefinitely as the damage from one foot of wet and heavy snow is too extensive and too dangerous to allow the public inside the park’s 508 acres of forested land and trails.

Humans cannot be trusted, they are too dumb to avoid uprooted trees and broken branches. I wonder how we survived for so long prior to the federal and state government daddy telling us what to do all the time?

The forecast predicts more snow and inclement weather to the delight of children and adults alike who secretly wish for more paid snow days.  Teachers, who have not taught much for the last two years, are up in arms if the schools do not close pronto.

Store deliveries of food and other necessities have come to a halt during last week’s snow emergency botched by the Virginia’s Department of Transportation. Roads were unplowed and people could not get out of their driveways, everyone was snowed in.

Supplies had already slowed down for months now due to Biden regime’s economic policies and preposterous Corona-virus never-ending mandates, job-killing economic payouts to people to remain on unemployment and welfare, and abject fear driven non-stop into the weak-minded population who remained shut-in for fear of death.

On my almost daily trips to the grocery store, I found the shelves emptier than before, with merchandise spread out to give the impression that shelves were full; but to the trained shopper’s eye, they were at least half empty. The milk and dairy refrigerators were empty, an entire wall of nothing. Where is the abundance I saw when I first set foot in an American grocery store, shortly after arriving from a communist country?

Empty shelves bring back painful memories of starvation and standing in endless lines daily for groceries in hopes that something will be delivered and we would have food that day. We are not there yet in America, but in this part of northern Virginia, it is closer and closer. When Walmart has so many empty shelves, it is extremely worrisome.

America is socialist now and it seems bleaker than ever, as the Democrat socialist regime in power aided by RINOs at the federal level, and in many Democrat-controlled states, are driving the economy into the ground. Yet everyone seems to want socialism despite people like me telling them, be careful what you wish for because nothing is free. Every decision has an opportunity cost.

There are beautiful vineyards in Virginia, dedicated to wine making. But our grapes, fresh fruits, and vegetables in grocery stores come from California, Florida, Washington state, Chile, and other countries like Peru and Mexico. I buy grapes from Chile and, invariably, when I bring the bag home, a weak bee crawls out of the package, and sometimes a Japanese beetle or two, stowaways from a warmer climate and from another world.

When grapes are too expensive, I replace them with a box of raisins. Raisins were a real treat in my childhood when chocolate was not available. In winter time, after searching all day, my dad would bring home a rare treat, a bunch of grapes, so dried out on the vine, they were practically raisins. Thus I was introduced to raisins, nature’s sweet treat, no sugar or other preservatives added.

The type II diabetic rates in the communist country were quite low for the simple reason that nobody was fat and everybody was hungry most of the time. Extreme thinness and low type II diabetes was one silver lining to our misery. We survived in a socialist economy run by the incompetent Communist Party apparatchiks who were well fed and rotund and did not care that we were not.

                                                                    Photo: Ileana Johnson

First Snow of 2022

The silence of the falling, sticky snow is shattered by limbs creaking, crashing in the woods with a loud thud, a collective sigh of nature burdened by the heavy, pristine white blanket. The trees look like white giants with droopy arms dragging the ground.

It is the first snow of winter and of 2022, eight inches accumulation so far, and still falling hard. The hawkish wind is blowing it sometimes sideways, drifting in sudden gusts a few inches that fail to remove any significant amount of snow, already stuck like glue to the ground and on all horizontal surfaces no matter how small.

Yesterday it was so warm that we wore short sleeves and ran the air conditioner briefly. I am now dressed like storybook Nanook of the North, in heavy wool sweater, thankful for the cozy heat from the twenty-first century’s furnace.

I am no longer freezing inside in flannel pajamas, wool pants, sweater, coat, gloves, and boots as I did during the communist regime when steamed heat, hot water, and electric or gas heaters were things only the loyal party members enjoyed on a constant basis in wintertime. So much for my white privilege.

The windchill is at 22 degrees Fahrenheit and I am praying that electricity will stay on, as our Marxist politicians in Washington, D.C. have been pushing their green globalist agenda with reliance on erratic “green” energy from wind and solar. Right now, the wind is blowing but there is no sun. Fossil fuels and wood are what people can rely on dependably. I hope there is enough stored electricity with Dominion Power and the falling trees do not knock down any powerlines.

We are cutting down trees at alarming rates to make shipping boxes for an economy that has been forced from brick-and-mortar stores to home delivery due to the flu fearmongering broadcast non-stop on mainstream media, frightening people inside their homes for almost two years now. Hiding and cowering in fear has turned the American population into voluntary prisoners inside their own homes.

The roads in our neighborhood are impassable and nobody has come out yet to shovel their driveways, nor are there any road plows in sight to clear the roads. The schools closed yesterday, and people wondered if it was wise to do so after two years of students learning nothing at home except how to play new online games, but people realize today with a sigh of relief that meteorologists were right this time. The popular saying, even broken clocks are right once a day, fits this weather forecast.

During my childhood, children would have already been outside, sledding, skating, building snowmen, having snowball fights, however painful with wet snow, and squealing with joy and occasional pain from injury. By the end of the day, when the streetlights came on, and they went home reluctantly, their clothes were wet and frozen stiff on their bodies. The children of this current generation are snug inside, staring at a blue screen all day, getting their exercise surfing the television channels or their electronic devices, still dressed in their pajamas. They are weak and pampered and would be unable to survive the elements outside for any length of time.

Snow, Squeals of Joy, and Snowflakes

Photo: Ileana Johnso

We finally got five inches of winter in one day, on the second day of spring, March 21, 2018. A few powdery flakes in December dashed our hope for a white Christmas.  This was a heavy snow which could easily turn to slush and then refreeze. The Hawk was blowing slightly but the snow did not scatter like powder in all directions.

We tried to go to our local park but it was closed. Two menacing park rangers, high on their minion power to control admission to nature, told us in threatening voices that the park is closed and we should leave. The fact that we were on state roads paid by us as taxpayers of Virginia, seemed to escape the tiny brains of these control freaks. But, in the name of peace and tranquility, we turned around without saying a word.

We decided that we could trudge our way into the park through our own back yard before we got too wet to care about nature and its breathtaking beauty.

Photo: Ileana Johnson

 

The snow was coming down fast covering the landscape in a winter wonderland, to the delight of children in the neighborhood who brought out their sleighs to slide down the many hills around. For the first time ever, I-95 N was completely empty of traffic, only a few south-bound vehicles.

Trucks with ploughs attached were busy clearing main roads and highways while many streets remained covered in a silent white blanket.

Photo: Ileana Johnson

 

Our resident fox surprised me as she dashed across the back yard, running swiftly into the woods in search for food. She has become the object of concern of many neighborhood newbies who are worried about their pets. They don’t know that the fox has a taste for squirrels but in a bind, she might steal other critters.

Grazing under the snow

Photo: Ileana Johnson

 

The snow is coming heavier and the flakes are dancing in the crisp air. It has collected five inches so far; it’s a heavy snow that would sting painfully in a snowball fight.  A few children on our street have brought out their toboggans and are squealing with delight as they wipe out at the bottom of the hill into the white blanket. A few are trying to build snowmen but the snow is too heavy and they give up, making snow angels instead.

Photo: Ileana Johnson

 

We walked to the river bank and, before I had a chance to snap a few shots of the wooden path covered with untouched whiteness, a yellow lab bounded out of the woods sliding on the wet snow. She seemed to be in sledding dog heaven, jumping and running in and out of bushes laden with snowy cotton balls that fell to the ground in a white flurry, covering her with shimmering flakes.

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2018

 

The red cardinals made a stark contrast to the overwhelming brightness – like a jumping feathery stain of blood. A family of deer is foraging at the edge of the park, their heads disappearing in the snow.

We laughed when we caught sight of the marina’s plastic bald eagle nest. We really thought it to be real several years ago when we got five feet of snow and it was much harder to make out shapes accurately in the total whiteout.

Photo: Ileana Johnson

 

The falling snow gives the Potomac River an enchanted glow that only an artist could imagine and paint with his magical pallet and brushes. The barren branches are covered in lacy white designs shooting up to the grey sky. The railroad bridge is cast in the distance in a wintry fog.

A few ducks are slowly gliding on the curiously grey water and birds are chirping in the trees. Yesterday they were ready for spring, preparing their nests and building new ones, the Japanese magnolia was on the verge of opening exquisite pink blooms, and today winter is back, as if it is quarreling with spring and keeps coming back to make one last point before final departure.

Snow is still falling, a myriad of flakes dancing in the air, dancing in my heart, falling on my hair and on my face. Like the kid I used to be, I stuck my tongue out to capture the magic of snow falling from the sky. There is nowhere I would rather be at this moment when I experience the happiness of my childhood winters, carefree and innocent, enjoying life and God’s seasons. It is a dreamy snow, a March snow that appears suddenly like a roaring lion and melts the next day like a lamb, one that will be gone tomorrow, but the memory will linger in my mind’s eyes, my videos, and my photographs.

Blessings

Photo:  Ileana Johnson 2015

Tonight, the much awaited Snowmageddon 2017 came in the form of a wicked icy slush. Nobody must have heard of March snows – March roars in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. Some grocery stores were emptied of milk and bread – the global warmists were afraid they would starve. I rushed to come home from the nursing home for fear that I might get stuck for six hours in an inch of snow as it happened two years ago on the Occoquan River Bridge.

The changing pressure is wreaking havoc inside my painful knees but I must stay mobile to see mom and to help my hubby recover from chemo. Today was a good day, she was happy, in less pain, and recognized me.

As always, I bring candy bars and chocolate to mom’s neighbors who are not diabetic. When I first got off the elevator I encountered the retired sailor with a proud tattoo on his wrist. He is always smiling and watching those who come and go on the keyed elevator. We always chat a bit and sometimes I bring him a couple of pieces of wrapped chocolate.

Mimi and I adopted Lakshmi across the hall from mom’s room. We have no idea what she says, she chatters in her Indian dialect that only her family and personal physician understand. Her room has no decorations at all; as soon as her family puts pictures on the walls, she takes them down. She refuses to wear any other outfit except one favorite dress. When the staff bathes her, they dress her in clean clothes but she changes quickly back into her favorite dress. I take her chocolate every time. We only truly communicate when she greets me with “Namaste.”

Last week Mimi ordered pizza for mom. Lakshmi and Maria came into the room and everybody ate pizza and watched TV – Lakshmi does not have a TV in her room. She is highly mobile and often checks in on mom  to make sure she has not fallen. Mom can barely stand now.

One day mom was eating breakfast in her chair and Lakshmi came in and made her bed. It seemed to give her joy to do that so we let her. It is almost comical to watch them huddled in the hallway, talking to each other in their respective languages, not one understanding what the other said, yet they nod and smile as if they have just shared a funny story.

It is so lonely for these residents, most of them don’t have any family visiting them at all or visit them infrequently. I cannot imagine not going to see my mom two or three times a week. Americans are a funny bunch, they talk about how much they miss their families, especially after they died, yet while the loved ones are still alive, they never take the time to go see them, to tell them in person how much they missed them. As a European who grew up with a very large extended family, I find that odd.

During Bingo days, Mimi and I take hand lotion bottles for prizes and bags of Lindt chocolate as a treat. The social worker makes sure those who are diabetic only get sugar free treats.

Mimi bought a large birthday cake for everyone on Mardi Gras. It was not a King cake, nobody at our local grocery store even heard of Mardi Gras much less bake such a special treat. But the residents were so happy!

I hope and pray that God continues to keep me mobile so I can bring a little joy to a few of the residents in mom’s nursing home, especially those who are immobile and trapped in their rooms. Mobility is a blessing that most of us don’t appreciate until we lose it in the twilight of our years.

Snow

There is a certain beauty and peacefulness coming from a freshly-fallen blanket of snow. Nature is quiet, the silence is almost deafening. All senses are alive. The air is fresh and crisp. Three Canada geese just flew over, not sure where they can hide from this cold. My eyes are squinting to deflect the snowy-white glare. The sun is hiding behind a thick blanket of grey, but there is an iridescence of yellow escaping here and there through the clouds.

Tree branches are covered in powdery snow, giants reaching their arms to the sky. Deer tracks are leading around the house - their nightly incursions into my flower garden. There are some azaleas left with green leaves; judging by the tracks left in the snow, the deer were brazen enough to come close to my front windows, looking for something to munch on.

The bird bath is frozen with a thick coat of ice. A red cardinal, like a fresh splotch of blood, rests on the metal ledge, painting the pristine whiteness. One solitaire evergreen tree breaks the whiteness. I step onto the snow and am surprised that there is a crunching layer of ice underneath. I want to walk to the forest to take a few pictures. There is so much amazing beauty surrounding me in the dormant landscape! God’s palette is rich with hues of white, brown, dark green, grey, yellow, and blue.

I walk through the semi-frozen ground with care. I am not sure what hides beneath my feet. I leave behind icy tracks. It will be easy to follow my way back. The water’s edge is frozen and cracked underneath in a spidery pattern of blue and white. The water current seems to be running swiftly through the middle. It has not been hard cold enough during the night to freeze everything.  But there is no sign of wildlife floating or feeding anywhere near the shore. Where did they seek shelter?

 

The Snow of My Childhood

Ploiesti buried under snow in 2017
Photo: Florentina A. 

The first snow of 2017 finally arrived; a couple of inches covered the ground early before sunrise, turning our world into a powdery-white winter wonderland. The woods were unusually quiet and the animals disappeared with the exception of the resident fox. She ran from the back bushes and left a trail of swirling dry snow disturbed by her bushy tail. My two squirrels were nowhere to be seen.

I was planning to go to an Epiphany celebration that morning and was not sure if I could drive on unplowed roads in our neighborhood. The main highways were clear; this time nothing was left to chance, plows and salt trucks were in position the night before. They were not going to repeat last year’s fiasco when a few inches of snow on untreated roads caused gridlock on all major highways and interstates for hours in northern Virginia. I was stuck on a hill top with many others for six hours before we were rescued.

I made it to my friend’s beautiful mansion, perched on the top of a hill and I parked on an incline without fear. The snow had stopped, how hard would it be to maneuver the car going home?

An hour and a half later, I did not like what I saw. The snow was coming down hard again, covering everything with a fresh, thick blanket.  As I looked out the window in the back yard at Denise’s two pink flamingos covered in inches of snow, my mind wondered to my childhood’s snow, a world away on the other side of the globe, in another time, another life, not so abundant as today.

Our winters were always very heavy, icy, and bitter cold. When it snowed, we stayed snowed in for months in the country unless God was merciful and temperatures rose for a few days. Then it snowed again on top of ice.  The city plowed the main roads for buses and trams, but side streets were always buried deeply. The main streets had snow piled up so high on the sides; we could not see the heads of the people walking between the mountains of snow. Boulevards and avenues were covered in dirty slush, splashed with vengeance onto everything.

I am not sure how much the many falls on sheer ice have affected the intense pain I have today, I just remember the constant bruises on my legs and butt. I was fortunate to have never broken a bone, but many of my friends were not so lucky.

To us kids, winter was a time of fun, sledding, building snow men, snow ball fights, and ice skating, but for adults it was a time of misery - walking, commuting, and working in bitter cold. For the elites, who had chauffeurs and their own cars, it was a time of skiing and partying in the beautiful mountainous lodges and expensive hotels of beautiful Sinaia resort.

Growing up with my grandparents in the country, snow was something entirely different than in the city. It created a lot of extra chores in order to survive. Nobody came to plow the roads and the bus arrived often only once a day if it did not get stuck on the way. Once in the village, even though it was only six miles away from the city, you were stuck for the winter.

We had to care for animals every day, feed them, water them, and make sure they did not freeze to death. My grandparents’ four bedroom house did not have heat, nor a bathroom, so they built a tiny adobe, mud and straw brick, three-room structure nearby and that is where we survived in winter.

The first room was where we cooked the meals on the cast iron stove which was fed with chopped wood and sent heat to the adjoining room where Grandma Elena and I slept. Grandpa Cristache’s bed was not far from the stove and as such, he got up every morning and restarted the fire which had died during the night. We did not freeze because we had really thick and heavy wool quilted comforters stuffed with cotton which kept us toasty warm. As soon as we stepped out of bed, it was very cold.

A third room had a separate entrance and was used as a summer kitchen and that is where we ate our meals as well. It was warmed by a butane gas stove on which grandma cooked our meals and the slop for the pig.

The wooden outhouse was located in the garden, as far away from the house as possible, and we had to trek through mud and snow to use it. It was just a wood shack over a hole in the ground. The toilet paper was pages from the main communist newspaper, Scinteia (the spark), with Ceausescu’s brain-numbing lying speeches. It gave adults a sort of perverse and guilty pleasure to use his printed face on our behinds.

Grandma felt sorry for me, a “city girl,” where we had indoor plumbing and a bathroom. But I spent more time with them growing up and on school vacations than in the city. Besides, the commies did not give us hot water often in winter and in summer they even cut off cold water in order to clean and maintain their holding containers of rust and minerals or to conserve resources. So Grandma brought in a bucket at night so I did not have to go to the outhouse to pee; she did not want me to trip in the dark and fall on ice or snow.

At night, she gave me a clean and warm flannel pajama, painfully washed by her ageing hands and dried on the line, clean but smelling like wet dog. We slept cozy warm until the fire in the stove died out and the crackling of burning wood stopped. As soon as we hit the sack, flees woke up and started biting but we were too tired and cold to care. Grandma always fed many flee-infested cats that slept in the attic, in hope that they would control the mouse population. We could hear the mice at night running through the tunnels they dug inside the adobe walls, probably going up to where hay and grain was stored. When we got up in the morning, bleary eyed and shivering, we waited for Grandpa to stoke the fire again before we crawled out of bed. Our pajamas and nightgowns bore bloody witnesses to the many flea bites we got during the night. Grandma tried to treat the cats with a flea powder, probably DDT, but fleas became hardy, they always came back.

Every morning we had to boil water to start the frozen pump outside which gave us water. It would freeze so hard, we had to boil a couple of pots before we could break the ice and start pumping water again for our own use and for the animals.

I remember thinking that I never wanted to be a farm girl, to live in the country, because life was too harsh, frigid, and miserable. And there were so many chores that a child like me could not understand.  Life was hard, no radio, no TV, and no electricity, we used a kerosene lamp with a wick and a fluted clear glass globe.

I can never understand to this day how my Grandfather bicycled to work nine kilometers each way in heavy snow for four decades. He was in good health but, when he developed a hernia and needed an operation, they nicked his colon during surgery. Ceausescu’s communist surgeons were ill prepared to care for the proletariat and nobody was concerned when most of them either died on the operating table or later from infection from a botched procedure. When I was seventeen, my beloved Grandpa, who taught me so much history, told me so many stories, and guided my first seven formative years of my life, died a horrible death from gangrene.

Village kids seldom had time to have fun in the snow – there were too many chores. But once in a while, around the holidays, they went from door to door, pulling a sleigh in the snow, decorated with a pine tree with colorful crepe paper garlands, singing about Father Frost and wishing the residents health and happiness in the New Year.

The snow turned red at Christmas with the blood of slaughtered pigs, a generational tradition passed for centuries. We were not allowed to eat meat unless we watched the animal being killed. I always hated that because domesticated animals were my pets. As I watered and fed them, I talked to them as if they were human and petted them. They responded in kind with affection, following me around the yard.

And here I am today, in this beautiful home, surrounded by freshly fallen powdery snow, so far away from where I came, wishing once more that I could travel back in time to my childhood snow, my grandparents, and my roots.

Florentina's Yard 2017


 

I regretfully left, struggling to control the car in the driving snow, and, when I got home, my cousin had sent some photos of the snow they got in my hometown of Ploiesti. It was just as I had remembered it. I gazed through teary eyes at the image of roads and fenced yards totally submerged by un-shoveled tall and pristine snow and I wished that I was an oblivious and blissful child again.
Note: A video of the 1966 winter in Bucharest.
 https://www.facebook.com/BucurestiulSecret/videos/935231383279607/

VDOT Fails Virginians Miserably

Photo: Ileana Johnson 2016

If I told someone that a dusting of snow brought to a complete standstill traffic on the highways and interstates surrounding Washington, D.C., the capital of the most powerful country on the planet, they would probably think that I was joking.

The beautiful sun-shiny day started with cold temperatures but nobody would have believed that by 6 p.m. the commuting life in the surrounding suburbs of D.C. would grind to a halt, so much so that a major highway had to be closed.

I thought it was strange that, in light of the forecast of one inch of snow for the evening, there were no plows in place or salt trucks anywhere along the roads I traveled.  I-95 N was crowded as usual, made worse by an overturned eighteen wheeler on the ramp to Fairfax.

The snow dusted the roads already by 6 p.m. and, turning from hwy. 286 onto hwy. 123, my car slipped on ice and it took a few corrections before I could control my vehicle. Everybody was driving slowly, 30 mph, better safe than sorry. Again, no plows in sight.

Nine miles later I came to the top of the Occoquan Bridge. It became painfully obvious to all drivers that it would be impossible to slide down the steep incline onto the bridge without overturning vehicles or a major pileup. Everyone stopped and traffic jammed for miles.

I waited patiently for a sign of VDOT presence. After I realized that was not going to happen, I called 911 and reported that traffic has stopped on hwy. 123, a major thoroughfare. A few minutes later, three fire trucks showed up, asking everyone if they were hurt. They could not understand why the roads were not treated either.

Six hours after I left Fairfax, on a stretch of maybe 14 miles, we were finally able to clear the bridge and traffic moved. But that was not the end of the ordeal. As we pulled onto I-95 South, commuter traffic was moving slowly on all three snowy lanes. I-95 North was also clogged with traffic and barely moving.  I was elated but my joy was short lived. Once I got on the ramp past Woodbridge, the road was really iced and cars were sliding left and right into each other.

Hwy. 1 was much worse. Traffic was virtually stopped going North and moving very slowly going South. With temperatures below freezing, turning onto side roads or neighborhoods was like turning onto an ice skating rink.

By the grace of God, I reached my home in one piece, thanking my guardian angel for my fortune. Who knew that a 27-mile journey would turn into a six hour ordeal? I could have driven to Ohio in six hours.

This dusting of snow that paralyzed the D.C. suburbs in northern Virginia was a metaphor for the government sclerosis, an incurable condition. The Virginia Department of Transportation (VDOT) has failed the taxpayers again in a big way. I shudder to think what is going to happen this weekend when meteorologists forecast over one foot of snow.

.

"Climate Change" Hypocrites and Their Fossil Fuel Guzzling Jets

Vostok Ice Core Team in Antarctica
Photo: Wikipedia

While the northeast is preparing for Snowmaggedon, 2-3 feet of snow, as if we’ve never had a few feet of snow before, the global warming turned climate change crowd is preparing for the upcoming global climate negotiations in December in Paris.  Pharrell Williams tweeted “Let’s unite a billion voices to take #ClimateAction now” urging climate change awareness from his private jet in which he is pictured sitting alone.   http://twitchy.com/2015/01/22/does-this-private-jet-make-pharrells-carbon-footprint-look-fat-singer-plugs-live-earth-agenda/

A crowd of influential rich people, 40 heads of state, 2,500 business leaders, and former VP Al Gore has gathered in Davos, Switzerland, for the World Economic Forum, Jan. 21-24, 2015, to discuss climate change and “how to make fabric from recycled plastic.” Other topics included the IMF’s forecasting of 3.5% economic growth, European Central Bank’s quantitative easing package, the decline in oil prices, Japan’s monetary easing, and technology. http://www.weforum.org/sessions/summary/global-economic-outlook-5

Co-chaired by Oxfam’s executive director, Winnie Byanyima, the five day conference also highlighted inequality and the need to further spread the wealth, a “larger share of the economic pie,” to the rest of the impoverished world.  Oxfam is calling for “free universal public services by 2020, including education and health” and living wages for people who have no qualifications.

Felipe Calderon, former Mexican President, told USA Today, “Decision-makers meeting in Davos must focus on ways to reduce climate risk while building more efficient, cleaner, and lower-carbon economies.”

Keep in mind that, while the attendees discussed “income inequality,” how the globe’s rich do not pay their “fair share,” and gender inequality keeps women economically repressed, the conference tickets cost $40,000. Who decides what is a “fair share” and how? When is wealth redistribution through taxation and welfare to poor countries enough?

It does not matter that thousands of real scientists and the Vostock ice core samples have debunked the man-made global warming/climate change theory, what rich liberals care about is lining their pockets with more economic activity taxation based on the non-polluting CO2, the gas of life, which they call carbon.

Global warmists know we are not God and we cannot change the climate and climate change existed for millennia. The globe’s climate underwent major ice ages, small ice ages, and warmer periods even in times when humans did not roam the earth.  Solar activity, volcanic activity, and oceanic currents play a significant role in the ever-changing climate.

The prominent liberals in the media and Hollywood sure hate global warming but they love their private jets, yachts, multiple homes, cars, helicopters, and other gas guzzling toys while urging the rest of us to drive tin can, preferably bicycle everywhere, and live in jail cell-sized tiny homes.

No hypocrisy here in needing extra airport space in Switzerland to park the 550 or so extra jets that arrived for the conference in Davos. The military opened up their airport to accommodate them. Only the “climate change” hypocrites flying alone can burn more fossil fuels in a few hours than most of us burn in years and then have the gall to lecture us on protecting the earth.

Environmentalists worried over fossil fuels may be thrilled or disappointed depending on the outcome of the five-year plan, 2017-2022, that may allow drilling in the Atlantic Ocean. The Washington Examiner said that “the president is likely to permit exploration and drilling off the coast of Virginia and possibly the shorelines of North Carolina, South Carolina, and Georgia.” http://www.washingtonexaminer.com/obama-expected-to-allow-drilling-in-atlantic/article/2559140?utm_campaign=Prospect:%20Politics%20Today%20pmi&utm_source=Prospect:%20Politics%20Today%20pmi%20-%2001/25/15&utm_medium=email

The Washington Post announced that President Obama is proposing to block 12 million acres of Arctic refuge from oil and gas drilling by “designating the area of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge as wilderness, the highest level of federal protection that would ban oil and gas drilling.”

Lisa Murkowski, R-Alaska, new Chairman of the Senate Energy and Natural Resources Committee, said to Interior Secretary Sally Jewell during a phone call, “What’s coming is a stunning attack on our sovereignty and our ability to develop a strong economy that allows us, our children and our grandchildren to thrive.” She continued, “It’s clear this administration does not care about us, and sees us as nothing but a territory. . . . I cannot understand why this administration is willing to negotiate with Iran, but not Alaska. But we will not be run over like this. We will fight back with every resource at our disposal.” http://www.washingtonpost.com/news/energy-environment/wp/2015/01/25/obama-administration-to-propose-new-wilderness-protections-in-arctic-refuge-alaska-republicans-declare-war/

And any Snowmageddon should be worrisome to Americans for a very good reason. EPA’s over-regulations have shut down almost 20 percent of the coal power plants which means that your electricity during severe cold spells could become unstable, unreliable, and a matter of survival. Natural gas can be used instead but the spot prices are expensive and delivery more difficult.

But don’t worry too much about your family’s finances and survivability as long as your carbon foot prints are very small. You’ll look environmentally-smug, unsafe, and duped behind the wheel of a Smart Car or something running on renewables such as solar, wind, or whatever unaffordable form of energy the “climate change” hucksters develop. Meanwhile, the U.S. oil futures have surged following the death of the Saudi King Abdullah.

 

The Polar Vortex Was Called Winter in My Childhood

It was bitter cold last night. Tiny snowflakes started to fall in the afternoon, turning lawns into a fantastic winter wonderland. Snow began to accumulate like a soft immaculate blanket. Then the hawk came and started blowing the soft dry snow into swirls of wind, howling past the windows, biting and stinging cheeks with the pricking sensation of needles. The wind chill was below 10 degrees Fahrenheit.

The ghostly whiteness cast an illuminating glow inside the house all night. Trees were claiming their stake of the pristine snow-covered ground with intense shadows. The moon was a hanging globe of shiny silvery yellow.

The sunrise made the snow sparkle with an orange glow peppered with crystal rhinestones. It was an invigorating and frost-biting sun.

When my hubby shoveled the drive way, the scraping of the plastic against the asphalt reverberated in the quiet stillness of the street. An occasional stronger gust of wind would temporarily blind him with a snow shower from the tree tops. The tall oaks were creaking with frozen stiffness.

I had left a six inch deep frying pan on the deck last night and it was now covered completely by snow. I could have used a ruler instead but it was more fun this way.

The roads were deserted in spite of the school closures. Nobody went to work except my husband. No kids were outside playing in the snow or sledding down the many hills in the neighborhood. No laughter of kids chasing each other in snowball fights or building snowmen. Homes were shuttered like tombs.

Even the animals were hiding in the woods. There were no deer hoof prints or fox paws in the fresh fallen snow. A silent black bird with white throat was taking a snow bath on the lamp post. The non-hibernating squirrels were hiding in their nests; the ground was way too cold and frozen to dig for nuts between the evergreens.

Are the kids sleeping late or huddled in front of television or computer screens? Are they frightened by the cold, afraid to play outside because they might hurt themselves?

We used to play outside all day in bitter cold winters, oblivious to frigid cold, wetness, and slosh around us or the adult discomfort and misery. Parents had to walk to work, slipping often on the thick ice. We took tumbles like rubber figurines, getting up with a roaring laughter each time, rubbing the painful part.

Bundled up to the eyeballs in layers, with pajamas next to the skin, kids were stuffed like Michelin Men. We skated and sledded until dark, sometimes hitching rides on the tail bumper of slow moving cars. There were no regulators around to tell us that we might die. When the lights came on, we knew it was time to go home. Our clothes were so wet and frozen, it took a little while to peel off all the layers, like a tight onion.

Some dads pulled their children on sleighs on Sundays, trudging through snow and ice like dutiful oxen to make their bundled kids happy. We tobogganed down a steep hill nearby, climbing it with a flexible flyer in tow over and over until our cheeks were rosy and our running noses red from the blustery wind.

On our way to school, sometimes we were secluded from view and wind by snow drifts on both sides – it looked like we were walking through crystal tunnels, occasionally splashed by passing busses. Often the two mile walk back and forth to school was very cold and painful when we slipped on ice or the wind picked up, we were buffeted so hard that the snow felt like little ice daggers cutting our faces with the discomfort of paper cuts – pain by a thousand miniature icicles.

There was a nice ski resort called Sinaia, not far from my hometown – it was “reserved” for foreign vacationers who paid in dollars and the communist elites who had villas in the area and could afford to buy the equipment, pay for lessons, and ride the ski lift to the top. The skating rinks were reserved for the elites as well – ice skates and boots were very expensive.

Our fun winters from long ago are now called polar vortex by the very wise and omniscient climate change discoverers.

I drove to Sinaia last year and visited the lodging base area where more hotels have been built since the temporary “fall” of communism. Now that capitalism in America has given me the opportunity to afford to fly to a ski resort, stay in a ski lodge, buy equipment or rent it, ride the lift to the top, my knees are not so cooperative.

 

 

 

First Snow

The temperature has dropped and the snow is finally sticking. Large flakes are slowly falling to the ground, blanketing the earth with a pristine coat of wonderland. A few birds are flying around disoriented by the sudden drop in temperature and the crystalline flakes covering their grasses. It will not be long before the deer make their five o’clock feeding rounds. The grasses at the edge of the forest are still green and inviting - the mild winter kept many from going dormant.

There is a strange glow coming from the soft snow shrouding darker areas and barren ground. The light is so unusual, that only a painter’s palette could realistically color it.

The majestic oaks are sporting a light dusting of snow. Branches are getting heavier with fluffy whiteness. Knarled and fallen trees appear as menacing figures hiding in the forest to frighten the unaware.

Canada geese and mallards are floating on the Potomac River, hiding beaks underneath their wings, a transitory protection from the onslaught of snow. The sea gulls are nowhere to be seen.

The marsh is beginning to freeze over – the beavers have done a fantastic job – you can actually cross the frozen damn to the other side of the inlet. The Potomac seldom freezes completely. The volume, the depth, and the speed of the rushing water prevent a hard freeze in most places.

Dry tall grasses are leaning under the weight of the snow like people carrying a heavy load. Powell's creek is still flowing from the ground, surrounded by white patches and icicles.

The ruins of the red chimney that belonged to the Lee family estate in the eighteen hundreds beacon in the snow like a lonely obelisk. A few deer tracks are covered by a light dusting of snow.

The dying light is casting ghostly shadows in the dormant forest. The eerie silence permeates the phantasmagorical landscape. Suddenly, an owl’s cry pierces the white calm.

My feet leave prints in the untouched white blanket. I experience the giddiness of childhood when we made angels in the snow. It is so quiet and remote; I can hear the falling snow making a barely audible sound as it hits the crunching dry leaves covering the ground in the woods. Green mosses are still visible here and there.

I spot a valley that would make a fantastic sledding slope if I only knew what was underneath. The sleigh my Grandpa had built for me 45 years ago would fly down this slope. Sledding gave me so much joy all day. Exterior clothes were frozen stiff on my body by the time I came in at night with rosy cheeks and a red nose. The warmth of a dry flannel pajama was the ultimate luxury.

The wind is picking up, chilling me to the bone and biting my cheeks. I contemplate the warmth of a cup of cocoa, sitting in my comfortable chair, dreaming and weaving stories in my mind. I regretfully leave this peaceful but cold paradise, retracing my steps in the snow very carefully.