“Come outside and stand in front of this snowbank for a picture. For perspective,” he said and, cooperative as ever, I pulled on tuque, boots and jacket and went out for a moment. Only a moment though, because it’s too cold for a girl without her ski pants on.
The picture still doesn’t show the impressive massiveness of these snowbanks. I can’t figure out why a snowbank taller than me looks shorter! Perspective shmective. Cameras clearly lie.
So how about this one then:
Still doesn’t really do it. But anyway, I love it — the yard full of whipped cream.
Talked to Dad last night and he’d seen on the news that Winnipeg has snowbanks 15 feet high — like in the old days! The old days being the 1950s and earlier; we have black and white photos of snowbanks as high as the telephone wires.
“I wonder,” I said, “if there really was that much snow or if the wind mostly just rearranged what it had to work with. Like what happened here.”
Dad was too young, then, to notice that kind of detail. He just remembers having a lot more snow.
On the way to town yesterday one could see the stubble in the fields; all the lovely snowbanks were against the rows of windbreak bush that sensible farmers have wisely left along the edges of their land.
After today, not another word about snow. This year. Guaranteed.