Skip to main content

Snow on snow

The defining feature of our trip to the UK this Christmas was snow. Lots of snow.

A few days before Christmas, snowstorms hit both the east coast of America, where some of my family live, and the south-east of England, my parents' residence. My grandparents had to cancel their 60th wedding anniversary party and my mom slipped on ice and almost got snowed in at the Royal Berkshire Hospital. Meanwhile in Texas, all this seemed far away and we flew out of D/FW airport on the 23rd in temperatures of about 22C/75F. While warm for this time of year, we didn't expect it to drop too far as we departed for icier climes.


However, a couple of days later I checked a friend's blog and saw this. It was hard to believe, but had we tried to fly a scant 24 hours later, we would have celebrated Christmas at the airport. If celebrated is the word.

Instead, we had safely reached my parents' house and were happily engaged in building our first snowman in many years. Meet Sidney the Seated Snowman.



Heading north to Graham's parents, we were enthralled by the silent hills sleeping beneath their snowy blanket. The air was so still that a snowplough scraping its way along the country lanes could be heard miles away. Down on the canal, ducks left waddling footprints on the slushy ice and dropped unconcernedly into dark chilly water. Can't they feel the cold? Our own feet were numb from the slush working its way through our boots, and we hurried home to warm them up with fluffy slippers and mulled wine.



New Year was spent in the Peak District. The sun shone and the hills were sifted with powdered sugar and royal-iced in shining peaks and curves. We slipped and slid up boot-trampled paths to the top of Mam Tor, and floundered, shrieking, through loose snow up to our thighs. It was awesome.





Returning to Reading to catch our flight home, we were disconcerted to hear that more snow was expected to fall that night. By 6pm it had started. By 8pm our car was thickly coated and we were discussing the likelihood of reaching Heathrow in the morning. We woke up to 7 inches and the white flakes still drifting down. Heathrow appeared to be the only airport in the UK still operating, so we swept the car free and ploughed carefully through the snow. Fortunately Mom and Dad aren't far from the motorway, and slow and steady made it. We drove into a whirling white blur with the radio reciting endless lists of school closures and the steady swish of salty slush beneath the tyres. Gradually the blur eased and the slush receded, and we were at the airport and on our way home.

Comments

Limitless Snow said…
Nice article, which you have shared here about the snowstorm. Your article is very informative and I liked your way to share your experience in this post. Thank you for sharing this article here. Port Coquitlam Snow management service

Popular posts from this blog

Hell is still hot?

  Sometimes it's good when people say things we disagree with. Not always; it can be irritating, frustrating, or wounding. But sometimes it arouses our curiosity, causes us to examine our assumptions, and sets us off on a trail of new discoveries. So it was when somebody posted this image on Facebook.   It says, in emphatic block capitals: We need preachers who preach that hell is still hot, that heaven is still real, that sin is still wrong, that the Bible is God's word, and that Jesus is the only way of salvation. After my initial reaction of, "We certainly do not! " the curiosity kicked in. What was it about this particular formulation of the Christian faith that I didn't like? If I wouldn't preach that, what would I preach? Given that hell is not a major topic of the Bible, how on earth did we get Christians who think it merits headline billing in the gospel? What's wrong with it? Picking something apart is always the easy bit. I partly object to what

Bonnie Prince Charlie Walk: Ashbourne - Longford

The Bonnie Prince Charlie Walk follows the "general direction of Prince Charles Edward Stuart's march from Ashbourne to Derby". ( Derby Ramblers ) I'm inclined to think that the prince would have had the sense to follow the main road rather than tramp across muddy fields, but a route following the modern A52 would not be particularly pleasant.  The appeal of the walk for me was not really the historical accuracy, though. More that it was close to home, fairly short, and unlikely to be flooded even in the current climate. It has turned into my Lent walk: starting on 5th February; visiting plenty of village churches along the way; and hopefully finishing by Easter. Walk 1 I set off on a grey day from Ashbourne Market Cross, the official start of the Bonnie Prince Charlie walk. My first stop was Ashbourne Methodist Church, a severely symmetrical building smelling faintly of cinnamon, where I prayed for a few people who were on my mind. The route climbed steeply out of As

Bonnie Prince Charlie Walk: Longford to Lees and BONUS walk

The walk from Longford to Lees didn't include any churches. That was frankly not on. So I found an extra walk which included not one, not two, but three churches. Also it was shorter, because I didn't have time to fit in a longer walk that week. The next week I managed the churchless section of the Bonnie Prince Charlie Walk. It was a little more adventurous than I expected! Walk 1 (Three Churches) For this route I followed the directions given by Dave Welford on his very useful blog . As soon as I parked up by Sutton-on-the-Hill church, I heard the bleating of lambs. Spring must be coming. number 11 mum and baby   I crossed a field full of numbered lambs and ewes and came out in the middle of Sutton village. Turning left by the village preschool, I picked up another footpath to take me across the fields to Dalbury. A ruined cottage stood crumbling lonesomely - the Gamekeeper's Cottage, apparently.  I was amused by Dave Welford's comments about the miserable farmer who