Welcome Winter! (or How I spent Valentine's Day)

My oh my, but winter has arrived. I am one of those folks who genuinely likes cold weather, but with the storm that blew through the northeast over the last several days, I may have to change my preference.

(I took this photo out of a window this morning, then saw Cathy's wonderful icicle shot.)

I mean, when I said I like winter, I didn't mean WINTER. And that's what we got with this storm. I know, I know--all the folks in upstate New York would trade for our piddling snow piles. Or folks in Manitoba might say--you call that snow? Sigh.





We had snow, then sleet, then rain, then snow. The result was a leaden soggy heavy icy mess. Yesterday, my husband and I cleared out the driveway and sidewalks. We are good township citizens and try to honor the 24-hour clear sidewalks rule.

Ten years ago, we bought a new snow blower. It is to regular snow blowers what Tyrannosaurus Rex was to regular dinosaurs. It is a behemoth.

It all started this way. A bit more than ten years ago, our son and his fiancee were living in Troy, NY. When they decided to move to Pittsburgh, they asked for our help, which consisted of my husband helping them to move, and me staying here and caring for pets--theirs and ours. Right about this time there was a ridiculous snow storm which dumped about 4 feet of snow on central PA. To avoid the snow, my husband took a most unusual route to get from Troy to Pittsburgh--basically, he traveled to Buffalo, then headed south! Who would think that the Buffalo route would be the one to avoid snow.

Anyway, I was staying at our house, watching the snow pile up. We had a snow blower, but when it came to blowing snow 4 feet plus to get over the existing snow banks, well, it just couldn't do it. That's where behemoth blower comes in. Right after that storm, we purchased the new blower which could clear 4 feet easily. And, of course, global warming set in, and we have barely had to use it in 10 years, so it sat in the back of the garage waiting.

Until yesterday. Yesterday, my husband dressed warmly, even breaking out new boots (!) and headed out. He started up the behemoth -- oops, blower -- without too much trouble. And then the moment of truth. It was like trying to snow blow a frozen pond. Because the last part of the storm was rain it had mostly sealed the top layer. So, I went in front of him with an edger chopping up the hard crust so the teeth of the snow blower could dig in. Well, we won. But only after over-doing our muscles and exhausting ourselves.

I had a passing thought about women in Africa who I have seen beating corn maize in a large mortar and pestel arrangement. And that's how I felt chopping up the snow.

Ah--Valentine's Day, when two people who love each other and have been together for a long time, want only to spend time together and . . . clear the driveway!

Happy Valentine's Day

Valentine’s Day—and that means flowers. Our local public radio station has been running a “buy roses for your sweetheart” for an annoyingly long time. We all know flowers come from somewhere, but where?

I certainly don’t mean to play “Can you top this” but having read a recent post by Mary, when she talked about her view of a greenhouse, I was reminded of a "greenhouse" trip my husband and I had during our trip to the Netherlands.The Netherlands is a genuinely charming country to visit. Everywhere, as in most places in western Europe, nature is much tamed. A good portion of the Netherlands is land reclaimed from the sea, and consequently actually sits below sea level.

On one of the days of our vacation there, we went to see the Aalsmeer Flower Market. It was the most amazing place—an interior that is the size of 125 football fields. Flowers are flown in from all over the world; they are shown, bid on, bought, then shipped back out all over the world. All this action takes places in auction rooms. The auction rooms look like amphitheaters with 3 computer projection screens, flower carts on tracks rolling through auction room. There are two circles on each projection screen—on left is count-down clock; on right is price. The bidders wait as long as they can, then hit their bid, punching in and locking in the price before time runs out.

While all this action is occurring, flower carts are rolling in on cart trains. There is a track, coming in on the left of an auction room, that winds around and exits on the right side of the auction room. In a perpetual stream, flower carts roll in from the left, and at a controlled speed slowly roll through the room, then out of the room on the right. The bidders know which flower lots they are looking at as the bidding clocks run down. All told, Aalsmeer sells 22 million flowers EVERY DAY.

The flowers that have been bid on and bought are then transferred by cart trains from the sale side to the bought side. When the cart trains are not on the tracks, they are towed around. The means of motoring—golf cart like vehicles pulling the carts behind them, in long trains.

These carts are constantly moving, zipping around outside the auction rooms in seeming random action. They moved so quickly it looked like crashes would always occur. We did see the aftermath of one crash—a cart tipped over and flowers spilled all over.




Note crashed flower holders in middle, surrounded by red golf carts--to block from view?

They were quickly cleaned up and whisked out of view.Visitors are free to walk around the market in an overhead walkway. No visitor is allowed in the auction rooms, so there was no chance we would inadvertently buy millions of flowers! Also, visitors are not permitted to buy any flowers there!

Who knew that flowers were such a commodity? My view is a little simpler—I think flowers are pretty. They don’t have to come all the way from Aalsmeer. Just from someone you love!

Happy Valentine's Day!