Snow day for boot testing

Out this morning with temps in the low 20s F (around –6°C), which has been pretty normal for a while. But there was 2-3 inches of snow already on the ground, which we hadn’t expected quite so early in the day. Paul and I took our walk as usual, but it was quieter (few cars—school was canceled—and the general dampening effect of a layer of white) and more beautiful than most mornings. A gorgeous day, really. We did Loops today rather than River, and this took us through the cemetery.


A few weeks ago, I decided I might not enjoy having wet feet all the way from Inverie to St. Cyrus, and decided to try a pair of lightish Montrail GTX boots that are supposed to use a different manufacturing process to let the GTX breath better. I’ve heard this is a true improvement, but the jury is still out on this footwear. I have high arches and a high volume foot, and these boots didn’t seem to agree with that profile. But I trashed the original laces, got a pair of six-footers, and have been fiddling with different lacing schemes that would give me foot room without ankle flop (now there’s an advertising slogan for you) and the inevitable rubbing. They’ve been feeling pretty good. This morning, in the invisible ruts under the snow, they felt stable and secure. Fingers crossed (or toes), but I can always fall back on my comfy Hardrocks, and live with the damp tootsies.

I look out my office window now, nine hours later, and it’s still snowing. The governor has sent all state workers home. The police are on the radio urging people to stay in, or to drive very carefully if they have to be out. The ambulance has been by three times, the police twice and a fire truck once. We’ve canceled dinner with friends this evening. It’s nothing close to a blizzard. It’s not too cold, not windy at all, and we’ll probably only get six to eight inches of snow. Snowstorms like this are only a big deal because so many of us have to travel so far in our cars to work, and because so many of us no longer know how to drive on snowy roads—once a New England specialty. (People my age can all hear their fathers saying, at various volumes and intensities, “Keep your foot off the brake! Pump it! Pump it!” and “Steer into the skid!”)

We’re both working at home today, tucked in warmly, drinking tea, and having seen Paul off home this morning so he could enjoy his oatmeal,


we’re expecting him back later for the pickup meal that will replace our snowed-out dinner. I’m off to make my grandmother’s cinnamon rolls for dessert.



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