I really jumped the gun when I figured winter’s back was broken. Writing this on March 1, it’s a chilling five degrees above zero fahrenheit.

Was into Picton the morning after the big snow. There wasn’t too much anybody could do, only hope we don’t get another bunch of snow dumped on our town over the next weeks. A fortune will be spent just trucking the accumulation of a 24-hour snowfall away.

Managed to park on Main Street, but climbing the snow bank to feed the parking metre was impossible and the snowbanks at curbside made Picton Main ten feet narrower.

You can never trust a good old Canadian winter. He lulls you, then kicks you in the teeth. But this time, we all had ample warning. In our household we battened down the hatches, 60 miles an hour winds were forecast. So we hunted up emergency equipment, primed coal oil lights, trimmed kerosene heaters, drew a couple pails of water. Should the hydro quit, we were well stocked with food, had quarts of milk bought on special for a buck ninety nine, and settled back to tune in the radio reports on the unlucky stiffs who have to go to work to keep the other half of Canada alive.

It was a kind of freak snow. Most blizzards come from out west. This one attacked us from the nor-east in gusts. From time to time the whole house shook. Amazingly, after all the warnings to stay home the school buses came by on time.

I thought how daft can you get, hoped they would haul the pupils home before the storm got too bad. We even got our daily paper delivered and was able to read about the damage caused yesterday by the approaching storm. All the time, I’m thankin Christ I’m retired from farming.