Presence

Storm Reflections

February 28, 2026

A daffodil that just started blooming. Luckily, it wasn’t hit by the branches that fell around it.

Last Saturday morning, I sat down at my kitchen table and shared that I was crying. I was looking out at about five feet of snow piled against my front windows, snow that had fallen off the roof of my home since the storms started Tuesday. The roads around us had been plowed by the county, but ours hadn’t been. I watched people on the main road just above me, driving in and out of town without any problem. I was starting to despair that I would ever be able to leave my house again.

A little dramatic, I know.

That was the morning. But then my new neighbor texted and said he would be coming to town the next day and would be happy to help tow my car out of the snow. Feeling a tiny bit of hope for the first time in days, I ventured out for a walk with Biscuit and came across another neighbor with a tractor who said he would help plow me out. Just as I walked up the street to thank my neighbor, who had arrived with his tractor and had already cleared a path from the main road to my car, a truck from the county arrived, and an official said that the rest of the road would be plowed later that afternoon. Possibly the county worker was a little surprised when I reached out and gave him a hug; I was that grateful.

A few hours later, my road was plowed.

The storm came—and the storm passed.

Today, it is Saturday morning, and I am at my kitchen table again, looking out the same window. The temperature might get close to 70 degrees today. It feels like spring—stunning how fast it changed. My neighbor’s lawn, which was covered in snow last week, is green and lush. I feared the flowering quince would have been pummeled by the weight of the snow, but it bounced back and is beautiful. I am amazed that there are still daffodils blooming. I was afraid that the snow and subfreezing temperatures would have finished them, which was why I picked as many as I could before the weather rolled in—but apparently daffodils are stronger than I thought.

Maybe I am too, because I also made it through the week. I missed work and was housebound, but I managed to bring in firewood through the snow, pulled out my snowshoes, and shoveled paths through the snow as best I could. When the power went out, I heated water for tea in small ceramic ramekins on the woodstove, loaded my freezer and refrigerated food into ice chests, stored them in the snow, and didn’t lose anything I had purchased at Costco a few days earlier. I took care of my pets. I took care of myself, too.

The flowering quince was completely covered by snow last week. Today, it’s beautiful again.

Here is something that I want to remember from the storms that came last week: things change, and sometimes they change quickly. Moments when I’m near despair are only moments; they don’t last forever. It might seem like the snow will never stop and my road will never get plowed—but that’s not the end of the story. The snow melted, and the sun came out again.

I believe and trust that everything works for good in the end, and I’m called to do my part to help make it happen. That means putting on my snowshoes and picking up my snow shovel when that’s needed—and putting on my marching shoes and picking up my protest sign when the time is right for that. And always, to work for justice, love kindness, walk humbly, and trust that Julian of Norwich was right when she said, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

On snowy days. On sunny days. Even on this day, when President Trump, the “self-declared peace president,” went to war with Iran and later attended a fancy fund-raising dinner. Especially on this day.

May it be so.

Hard to believe that there was three feet of snow on this path a week ago. Biscuit even found a perfect stick.

Presence, Security

Good Neighbors

February 21, 2026

Yes. It snowed this week.

Let me tell you the truth.

I have been crying.

I am sitting at the kitchen table on Saturday morning, and I am looking out my front window at about five feet of snow that is stacked against it, snow that has fallen off the roof. There are birds and squirrels hopping around outside. I threw some seed out for them. Watching them always brings me joy—so why the tears?

The main problem, I guess, is that we had a week when about three feet of snow fell on my little town, and the electricity has gone on and off, on and off. It is on now, and for that I am grateful, but also—my street has not been plowed. All the roads around me are clear. I can see people up the street driving in and out of town, slowly and carefully, without any problem. After the storm, after the three feet of snow, the world is open to them again! Not for me. In the decade I have lived here, the county has always plowed my street—but not so far this year.

There are reasons, I know. There was a plow driver who went into a ditch with a snowplow up the street during the first night of the storm. My neighbor watched and said it was quite a production, getting him out and back onto the main road again. Maybe that made everyone in the county office a little more cautious than usual?

Also, there was a car that skidded down the hill above my house early in the storm cycle. It finally came to rest across the street from me, basically in the middle of one of our main streets. My neighbor and I had dutifully moved our cars up the street and parked on the side of our road, like we always did when we knew a storm was coming. Except with the stranded car and my neighbor’s truck parked a little too close to the end of the road, the plow drivers weren’t sure they’d be able to get down our street and back up safely.

I didn’t realize this at first, though. It took me several days of calling the Public Works Department to actually understand why my road wasn’t getting plowed. The county has a new helpful feature on its website where you can track snowplows and see which nearby streets have been plowed. I learned about this Tuesday, the first day of our storms. I checked the “Where’s My Plow?” site and saw that all the streets near me had been plowed, except for mine and the one above me. The woman who answered the phone at the county office was helpful. She looked at the website, agreed with me that my street hadn’t been plowed, and promised to relay the message to workers in the field and call me back.

She left a message, assuring me my street would be plowed soon.

I checked the website later and noted that the street next to mine had been taken care of, but mine still had not. Strange, no?

I called again the next day. She said she would look into it again and call me back.

That was a long day without any plow.

The next morning at exactly 8:00 a.m. when the office opened, my phone rang. The woman from the county office explained what the problem was. She kindly reminded me that there was a law that it is illegal to park on the street during snow season and that was why the plow was unable to get to us. She said that I should talk to my neighbors who had their cars in the wrong spots and that I should move mine, too. She said they would be happy to plow the street as soon as the cars were moved. Continue Reading…