the snow has her way

My husband says the snow is hard to keep up with– keeping the driveway and sidewalk clear for a potential emergency exit. Snow has been coming down heavily and sticking since early afternoon. She has not ceased her descent and is predicted to continue on her path through the night. Currently up to eighteen inches is predicted in our valley, and every few hours the forecasters increase the predicted amount of snowfall. We are keeping warm and well-fed with satisfying bean and rice soup. Matthew loves the thick, clumpy consistency of my slow-cooked assortment of lentils, pinto beans, field peas, black beans, brown rice, black Japonica rice, Wehani rice, garlic, and herb selection.

Spencer is purring in slumber and curled up on one of our bed pillows. The pups are adorned by knitted sweaters and huddled upon blankets upstairs where Matthew and I also huddle beneath blankets to keep our body heat close. Annie, our tough and tiny terrier mix, sprinted around the one acre property hopping through the snow, racing like a rabbit and went on a coveted car ride with us less than a quarter mile down the highway to put gas in the old Saturn sedan. Upright she sat in my lap in the passenger seat– my right hand fingers wrapped around her chest operating as a make-shift seat belt. Our shelter-rescued German Short-haired Pointer, Sadie, is too cold for the snow and playing outside. Instead of gallivanting and encircling the yard with her free-spirited run like she did years ago, double-layered in one knit sweater and one made of wool threads woven together, Sadie’s thin back legs tremble until the storm door is opened for her return back indoors. Sophie ran– a mixture of bunny-hopping, galloping, and thumping through the snow– around the inside of the fenced area and attempted a hardy tackle upon my body and into the snow many times. Dinner was exciting per usual, and the girls have full, happy bellies.

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We just went out for the food staples we forgot to purchase before the winter storm began–beer and chips– and took Sophie along. As Matthew prepared the Saturn for the 1/2 mile round-trip traveling, Sophie cowered in the back seat. He took a broom to the roof and hood before continuing with the sophisticated snow brush and scraper while Soph and I warmed up with the Saturn’s engine, doors closed. A stray who was found starving to death, covered in wounds, and so many ticks that her fur color was hard to make out, Sophie has trouble forgetting her bait dog past and resting assured that her safe and forever home with us is surely that– safe and until death-do-us-part. So the broom on the car roof was a bit too much. I was proud of her though, because even in her fear Sophie managed courage and control of her urinary sphincter. Concerned, but open to my fingers gently rubbing under her chin and face-to-face Eskimo-kissing, Sophie survived the association of a broom and coinciding fear from her past life.

While Matthew was inside the local market, Sophie and I took off up the desolate hill behind the building. It appeared that Sophie found running to be excellent as she ran like a care-free pup– wonderful to experience as her human companion. In her zeal she pulled me up the hill laughing. She took off leaping through the snow faster than I could lift my feet in my heavy, rubber boots. I sat down in the snow at the top, and Sophie slowed to a stand-still. The snow was coming down so heavily that I could hardly differentiate the street from the grass from the houses, and I definitely couldn’t see Tinker Mountain anymore.

The sky is white. The mountains are white. Anything that was any other color is now white. My husband is back out scraping the driveway for the third time but promises he will let the snow have her way for the rest of the night. The snow will follow every scrape he makes, insisting that all stays white. Sophie is calm, her temperament even, as she rests her chin on my knee. The other two pups are satisfied after their playful puppy-ness and aging dog trembles in the snow. I’m worn out from running with the girls in the whiteness outdoors, and each time Matthew comes back inside he strips off layers of clothing that are more wet on the inside from sweat than they are on the outside from the snow. And we were disappointed by the gym’s closure due to the weather. The weather is having her way with us though, and she isn’t done with us yet.

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About Emily Stansberry

Emily Stansberry is a freelance writer who teaches high school English in Appalachia. A teacher by day and a writer/reader by night, Emily lives in Floyd with her husband, two dogs, and cat. Emily’s family transplanted to Floyd County for the love of the Floyd-fashioned peace, culture, music, simplicity, and most certainly for the mountains. Emily writes about healing, simplicity, and the pursuit of good-enough-ness that lies beneath her (and everyone else’s) past stories of un-wellness and despair. She also enjoys the dance of article writing about happenings in her local community, with a particular interest in the theatre arts and literature arenas. Emily enjoys both fiction and non-fiction writing, memoir writing, science writing, reporting, editing, and even children’s literature writing, with a bit of illustration creation thrown in too. The act of writing is synonymous with the act of breathing for Emily, and as long as she’s writing, regardless of genre, she’s dancing to the beat of her muse.

3 responses to “the snow has her way

  1. Nonia Gay Jones

    I love your posts! Reading about Sophie breaks my heart.

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