At what point is a native New Englander, who likes winter and strongly dislikes summer, allowed to wave the white flag over too many snowstorms?
Oh, not yet?
O.K. then, apparently I have nothing more to say here!
But, hypothetically speaking of course, if today we had to shovel 8 more inches (20 centimeters) of medium weight snow, rake the kitchen roof and reshovel where the snow from said roof landed with a thud on the back walk and bulkhead, we might, just might be getting weary of this winter - hypothetically.
And if, hypothetically speaking, we had to crawl out the bedroom window onto the porch roof to shovel 18 inches (46 centimeters) of accumulated varietal snow, from multiple storms, it is remotely possible that we could be growing tired of this pattern of one storm after another after another - hypothetically.
But as a native New Englander, who likes winter and strongly dislikes summer, I think I need to keep my mouth shut for a little while longer. Because you know as well as I do that once summer comes, the heat rises, the humidity closes in and the bugs emerge, I will be thinking fondly of winter. Especially of an afternoon in late January when the physical exertion of coaxing and heaving heavy snow off the porch roof left me achey, satisfied and yes, even exhilarated, as the setting sun glinted off the icicles gilding the eaves.
Chuck working to clear the porch roof