Halloween at my house this year:
Only four times since the Civil War has such a thing occurred here, we are told. I am sure they had much classier jack-o-lanterns then. Then again, they probably had more important things to think about in Civil War days.
But just possibly they were as floored as we were by the unexpected blast of autumn snowflakes. With mesmerizing speed, the trees were overwhelmed, the leafy branches heavy with wet, unwelcome snow. The 9-year-old wept as her favorite climbing tree sagged under the weight. Mr. Archaeologist went out with a broom at the height of the storm to ease the burden on the climbing tree, as branches from much larger trees snapped off with gunfire-like cracks all around the house. This was possibly not the prudent thing to do, but he brushed the snow off quickly and the climbing tree made it through.
Shortly after this picture was taken Saturday afternoon, our power went out, and stayed out until an hour ago. Today. Over the last six days, we learned to love very heavy fuzzy socks and lots of quilts.
The town is still a mass of brush, branches and fallen power lines. A couple of the fallen branches speared into the earth like javelins in the back yard and had to be dug out. Halloween was a strange affair. The mayor tried to call off trick-or-treating, given the crazy quilt of debris and wires littering the sidewalks. But with most of us offline in every sense of the word, the message didn’t get out and the kids went out anyway, only until dark. The ghosts and goblins trooping through the snow in their boots made quite a sight.
It would be something to tell their grandchildren, I told the offspring.
“What, that this was completely weird?”