Outside one window, spruce branches are weighed down by snow, some bent enough to touch the ground. On the other side of the house, a drift has climbed up the side of the lower bird feeder. Adventurous birds have dug out the trough, but I suspect it won't be long before wind and snow defeat them. When I go out, I'll fill the higher one.

Which presents the next problem: our screen door swings out. And sure enough, I have to push back a drift in order to get it open. I'll dig it out when I come back, but I don't put off checking the furnace outlet. We have sidewall venting that can get drifted over. However, that night was cold enough that the furnace hardly went off and kept a tunnel clear for itself. I push the drifts back to help it out.

Time to head for the tractor. The first steps, I am knee deep. But I am soon up to my thighs wading through the scythe-like drifts that the wind laid down. My deep foot prints are the only marks on the snow.

I start the tractor and head for the barn. It is cold enough that I need to give it time to warm up. If I hurry it, the steering and hydraulics will whine and move very slowly.

At the barn, I am able to pull the door open, but hardly enough to squeeze through. I use the shovel that sits all winter leaning against the outside wall to clear what fell off the roof enough to open the door.

Inside, the stable is peaceful. Not warm. We don't have many sheep these days. But it is quiet, protected. Upstairs snow that seeped through the boards covers the bales at the west end. Still, I am out of the wind until I go back out. I apologize to the cats, tell them the regular chores and their food will come when the lane is blown out.

Even before I start the snow blower, it is hard to see where the lane is. Partly its the way the snow levels out the world. Partly, its the way the wind lifts what has already fallen so that it blows white.

The first push down the hill and into the heavy snow, I break a sheer bolt. Fortunately, I had put a selection in the tractor before winter. Getting into the tool shed would require negotiating a meter high drift. I will have to cross it to get the saw to cut the Christmas tree, but that is another day's task.

It would be nice to know how much snow actually fell here, but with the wind we had, it is impossible to tell. Nothing fell straight down, more like straight across. Eventually gravity won out, because there is a lot on the ground. And a full foot stuck to the railing around the deck. I can't imagine how those flakes clung in mid-air.

For those who had a schedule to keep, milk trucks for example, those stormy days were a nightmare. For those who misread a break in the weather for a sign the storm had stopped--and that was me on Wednesday I confess--the squalls were a reminder that winter is unpredicatable and more powerful than we are. For those who had put off shopping or storing up essentials, the wait for roads to clear was difficult.

At our house, we played board games two afternoons. A meeting got postponed. Visits were put off. I wondered why I did not feel like getting into some long term planning or a whirlwind of housework. Part of my mind said that I needed to take advantage of these snow days. But realistically, the basics took a lot of time and energy. I did not have focus left over to use the time well.

I did ponder: when life weighs us down like snow on spruce trees, all we can do is wait. When the roads close, it is best to be still. When the door won't open, well maybe we shouldn't be going that way.

So often I want to push on, shovel out the door, press forward. But when I let that stunningly beautiful snow speak to me, I rest.

Cathy Hird is a farmer, minister, and writer living near Walters Falls.