Looks like it might snow. We were all hoping for a drought-buster winter, but this is beginning to look like a dam-buster if it keeps up. I watch the snow take at Trial Lake in the Uintas pretty closely. That’s where my summer irrigation water comes from, and factors into the decision whether to buy flood insurance. The water content there is a little above what is normally there on March 1. February is usually pretty snowy.
The National Weather Service issued winter forecasts that were “equal chances” of being above or below normal — whatever normal is. My old farmer prognostication based on where the hornets built their nests — at the very tops of the trees — told a different story. The hornets were calling for a very heavy winter, and they appear to be right. Who are you going to believe, a bunch of pointy-headed scientists or some semi-sentient insects?
Plowing it has become a grind. I think I have plowed snow almost every day since just before Christmas. Sometimes twice a day. A lot of the storms have been little 3- or 4-inch things I’d ignore except that even little storms add up after a few days. After people have driven over it, it gets harder to clear. So best to keep on top of it. I’m no longer on top of it. Each time, I get a little farther behind with less space to stack it and taller walls to try to blow it over. This heavy snow doesn’t blow like it should. I’ve got places where I blow it and it bounces back on top of me.
It’s been warmer than normal and the snow is soggy wet. My house is about the same elevation as Snow Park lodge, and the snow here has been very heavy. It also turns to ice if you even look at it. For several days, it clung in the trees. It was beautiful to look at, until the trees started breaking off and crashing down on roads, porch railings, power lines and propane tanks. There used to be a bright line between snow blower season and chain saw season. This year, I almost need to find a way to carry the saw in the tractor.
I’ve been able to conscript various family members for roof-shoveling around the ranch. The outbuildings are all relics that were farmer engineered. Somebody decided that two-by-sixes spanning 16 feet were plenty strong, especially when set at an economical two-foot center. I put a metal roof on one old barn, and was concerned about the difference in a snow load that just sat there until I shoveled it off, and a snow load that moved around. I got a structural engineer to take a look at it. He walked through the barn taking note of the general structure, and made a rather quick exit.
“When did you say this was built?” he asked. At that point, it was around 50 years old. “Well, by my calculations, it should have fallen over 49 years ago.” His professional opinion was gasoline and matches. But our old farm hand and I thought better of that and doubled up all the rafters (going all the way to two-by-eights this time) and reinforced a few other things. That was nearly 30 years ago and it’s still standing. Sliding snow and all.
The barn was built as a lambing shed. The center has a high roof and room to store a lot of hay inside. There are lean-to portions that run down both sides designed for sheep pens. Sheep don’t need a lot of head room. The eave line is about 5 feet off the ground. When the roof slides, the snow stacks up even with the roof, and the next storm won’t budge.
I solved that by running the tractor along the outside wall with the big blower, making room for the next storm to land. When I cleared it this last time, there was a lot of snow on the roof. With the tractor off, I could hear the snowpack making noise, a little “tick” here and another “tick” there. Pretty soon there were cracks in the snow on the roof. I was able to back the tractor out of the way just in time for the whole thing to come off in one big, ground shaking avalanche. I don’t know how hard it would have been to get the tractor dug out of there, and am glad I didn’t have to find out.
My plan had been to plow early, then go skiing. Plowing took longer than expected, and when I came in and looked at the UDOT cameras on line, it was painfully obvious that I couldn’t get there from here. As late as 11 a.m., 248 was backed up to the US-40 interchange. 224 didn’t look any better. I hadn’t made a parking reservation, but it wouldn’t have mattered because I couldn’t get into town to use it. The Deer Valley lots were full, and the delay in waiting for the Richardson Flat bus, that doesn’t go to the resort anyway, was more than it was worth.
I went out for a second shift of plowing, wondering what good is a season pass if the traffic is so messed up you can’t get into town to use it.