snowy day barn
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Tag Archives: snow
snowy evenings are for robert frost
Evenings like this remind me of when I was a kid. We lived across the road from a wonderful man and his wife and family for a while when I was little named David Gwinn. His nickname was the squire.
It was on his property I first learned to ride, groom a horse, muck out a stall. I saw my first truly baby foal and met all sorts of very cool horses. He also had a marvelous collection of carriages and sleighs. And in the wintertime when it would snow like this on the beginning of a weekend we prayed for lots and lots of snow because if we were very lucky he would take us for an old fashioned sleigh ride. Usually he took the adults, but that’s another story altogether.
Anyway, that is but one memory when it comes to snowy evenings. The other is much more simple: my love of Robert Frost poetry. So here ya’ go kids, one of my favorite Robert Frost poems:
By Robert Frost 1874–1963
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.
tree frosting
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snow idiots
I somehow thought in Chester County there would be fewer snow idiots on the roads. Apparently not. Just did the four-wheel drive crawl down Route 352 which is a total mess between Immaculata and Route 30.
I passed either three or four cars on Route 352 which were either stuck or spun out. The road is slick, which by my humble estimation means SLOW DOWN.
I have a special shout out to that hot footed mama in the maroon Honda mini van who was behind me after she came flying out of Immaculata’s driveway: if you wanted to sit in my lap, you should have asked.
Another shout out in general to the folks from Immaculata who don’t seem to understand they are supposed to stop and look, and maybe use a turn signal before entering the roadway on Route 352.
There was another stuck mini van on the hump of the overpass.
People, we all know PennDOT has selective road treating at best in a nuisance storm like this, so please, slow down.
It is slick out there right now.
Road whiner over and out
good morning chester county!!!
It’s snowing!!!!
snowy morning in chester county
Snow is quiet, but not exactly silent, have you noticed? It makes almost a little whoosh sound as it falls all around you.
I look out the window and it is almost Currier & Ives perfect. I wonder if I will ever be able to adequately capture the beauty of a winter’s morning with my camera lens. Snowflakes flitter and float to the ground, and I think back to when I was a child and the man across the road from us had a collection of carriages and sleighs. His name was David Gwinn, his nickname was “The Squire.”
Now today there is not actually snow on the roads where you could take a sleigh out, but for some reason this morning as I looked out the window, a memory came floating back across the early morning. In my head I could hear the faint remembrance of sleigh bells of long ago. It was such a happy sound. Of course, things change and now in place of where Mr. Gwinn’s horses once happily munched apples, a McMansion is planted.
These horsey memories for lack of a better description were part of a magic that many kids do not have in their lives today. It’s a way of life I fear will be pushed aside, and I see this pushing aside in West Vincent with every new transgression thought up against a horse show that has been not only part of the fabric Chester County for near a decade but served the community well.
This makes me sad. These people who in my opinion, are trying to get rid of some of the very civilities that fed their pretensions to move to places like West Vincent in the first place, do not get it. And if they, along with a local government of questionable motivation, prevail in the quest to rid Chester County of a fine tradition, what will replace it? Nameless, faceless inanity…and no appreciation of the simple joys of winter mornings. The new should not necessarily rule the old because once these unique qualities of a community are gone, much like when a historic home is torn down, it’s not coming back.
The birds are treating the feeders like diners on a highway, and the usual cardinal
couples (they seem to like to double date at the feeder) have been joined by a bird I have never seen before today (not Mr. Flicker, but an Orchard Oriole).
Truthfully this is a Robert Frost kind of morning. He wrote a lot about snow in his poetry.
By Robert Frost1874–1963 Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.His house is in the village though;He will not see me stopping hereTo watch his woods fill up with snow.My little horse must think it queerTo stop without a farmhouse nearBetween the woods and frozen lakeThe darkest evening of the year.He gives his harness bells a shakeTo ask if there is some mistake.The only other sound’s the sweepOf 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.
just sitting there in the snow…
snowy sunday road
