Not everyone felt that way, however; some of the farmers lost cattle--despite all the hours they put into hauling feed and strengthening fences. Cattle don't always do what's best for them, and there are simply not enough sheds scattered throughout their pastureland, so, using only bovine sense, they keep walking away from the wind, pile up at the fences, and suffocate in the snow. The farmers are stoic. "Did your cows survive," I ask, hesitantly. They smile, grimly retorting,
"Most of em." and don't say anything else.
We never lost our electricity for very long, so the house stayed warm, and we invited Elijah and Marie to stay with us for the duration of the storm. Grandbaby Blaze was a little restless at staying in one house for so long. Marie took him out onto the porch and let him feel the cool breeze. He was ecstatic.
This morning as I drove by the bank, I noticed that one of our old buildings on the square had collapsed under the weight of wet snow. What a pity. I hate to see it torn down, but, by the looks of the long crack in the wall next to the pocket park, that's what will happen.
There doesn't seem to be a way to save it, even if the first floor were to be scrapped. Even worse, the damage affected the next building as well. This yellow tape automatically made me think of a crime scene. The criminal? My snow lullaby. Sigh.