Late last week, snow drifted gently down from a dark grey sky. Grey mist over the water masked Balaclava from sight. Lights needed to be turned on by four in the afternoon in order to read. Living on the western shore of the bay, sheltered beneath the escarpment, we experienced a dull, gentle winter day at home. Predictions of a storm and snowsqualls led us to go to town early on Wednesday. We had no need to leave.

For two days, the tiny flakes were steady. Our driveway was blown out Thursday and Friday morning. When I went out to clean up what the tractor could not get, there was only a couple inches.

During the day Thursday and Friday, there were blizzard warnings for some places, dire statements of blizzard-like, life-threatening conditions for the whole area. Last week, we saw no sign of this. Sometimes, if it is clear at home, we can see the boiling black clouds carrying a squall into the Town of the Blue Mountains. Because it was so hazy, we could not tell what was happening over the water and on the other shore.

On Thursday, I kept an eye on the weather radar. That showed heavy lines of snow aimed at Collingwood and Barrie and hitting the Lake Huron shore and communities well inland.

I listened to the radio. At noon, a reporter said there were many cancellations, asked listeners to go on-line for the whole list. I had looked there, and indeed, cancellations abounded. Stores and businesses closed. Roads closed, and remained closed. Police said, "Stay home!" This message was repeated through Friday.

Pictures began to appear of how snowed in people were south of us. Given that highway six north of Owen Sound never closed, it was not just the escarpment that protected us: most of the snow did not make it up to where we live.

I talked to people who got eighteen inches on Thursday, without drifts because they were sheltered from the wind. They got little on Friday. Friday there were extensive closures though, and the Lake Huron shoreline was the target of the storm. Gentle flakes continued to float downward at our home.

At some point in the night Friday, unseen in the dark, six inches of snow fell on us. Drifts grew between our house and the neighbour. All tracks were covered in the back yard. The benches by the shore were buried. Cleaning up in the morning took significant effort.

Last winter, I learned that if the wind is at all from the west, I need to heed the snowsquall warnings--not the peaceful picture outside my window. I learned to check before I leave home. With a wind from the southwest, there are a couple open places on the road that climbs the escarpment that are nearly impossible because of drifting and white-outs. With that wind from the west, there is the "S bend" into Kemble that can be a barrier that keeps me from one of my churches. From the north-west, we'll see the waves and know that getting to Wiarton or my other church would be hazardous.

This should not be a hard lesson. Living in Walters Falls, I could stand in bright sun and see the boiling snow clouds to the east in the Beaver Valley and west toward the shore. But somehow, looking out at tiny, gentle flakes and quiet water, it is hard to visualize the driving wind and snow hitting others so close to home.

I am reminded that in so many ways, knowledge is limited by what I see and what I look to uncover. Judging the world, understanding life, just from where I stand, will miss the mark. So much is hidden.

Cathy Hird lives on the western shore of Georgian Bay