About Abruzzo

I think this will be the last snow related post I write for a while. Since spring has come and the snow is well and truly melted continuing to write about February’s icy subject serves little purpose.

So this is very likely the last time I’ll write about it for the foreseeable future. (Note the use of “very likely” and “foreseeable” giving me a get out clause! )

Let’s start with a quote.

When there’s snow on the ground, I like to pretend I’m walking on clouds.

Takayuki Ikkaku, Arisa Hosaka and Toshihiro Kawabata, Animal Crossing: Wild World, 2005

The use of the quote is straight forward I guess. The snow so perfectly covered the towns, and villages, the countryside and beaches, the car parks and factory yards that it was easy to imagine you’d been transported to a different world. For days I felt like I was walking on clouds, seeing familiar places in a new way. No field, no factory yard, no construction site looks ugly when completely covered with snow.

For days I heard rain, but no rain fell. There was a constant dripping sound as the sun struggled to shine. The daily pattern consisted of hearing the drips of melting snow and ice, watching rivulets of water flow down through the streets, clearing the snow and making the paths safe, feeling the drop in temperature, the dripping stops, the flow of water stops, everything ices up – and it begins again the next day.

In areas where the water was allowed to drip unimpeded icicles formed. They were both beautiful and dangerous. A falling icicle, over a foot long, shouldn’t be experience too closely.

At first I couldn’t understand the red tape surrounding paths and steps. They were clearly no-go areas but everything seemed perfectly fine, until you looked up. Large clumps of snow and ice waiting to fall on an unsuspecting shopper. In many cases saviours with cherry pickers and shovels cleared the danger but there were plenty of roofs and tonnes of snow so the process took a few days.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

I love this poem by Robert Frost. I love its deceptive simplicity. I know if you analyse it you can read many meanings into its verses but taken at face value I think it captures the mood of the town after the snowfall of 10 February.

There was a quiet calm that was different to the norm. Loreto Aprutino is usually a tranquil place but for a few days people gathered and watched and did absolutely nothing. Watching was the new sport.

They watched the bobcats lift snow into the dumper trucks. They watched the snow on roofs and guessed when it might fall splat on the tiled footpath below. They sat and watched the buses and cars negotiate the roads and shook their heads when an over enthusiastic driver lost his grip on things.

They watched the traffic police assist and direct.

They applauded the arrival of a new group member.

They watched each other, watching each other.

But the snowfall stopped and the weekend came to a close and gradually everything moved closer to normality.

Everyone had miles to go before they slept.