I was down in NYC this week but was summoned yesterday by my wife because we were hit with a major snowstorm. It's hard to believe when you're all warm and cozy in the apartment but the proof was in the email photo she sent. So I packed up car and headed north. There were 30 - 50 mph winds and rain predicted for my drive so it was gonna be a tough one. It was in the mid 30's F and raining for the whole ride but when I rounded the corner 10 miles from home I was suddenly in a blizzard. Deep slushy wet slippery snow on the road, people driving slow, freaking out. When I tried to climb the hill up to Belleayre, the old car, she just wouldn't do it. I stopped halfway up the hill, tires spinning, mouth cursing. I had to turn around and attempt another ascent. Just six lousy miles from home. I got out of the car, checked the tires and my left front tire was low, 25 psi. I thought, I bet that's what's messing me up. Fortunately the closed gas station I was parked in had one of those pay air machines and I pumped that tire up and decided to give it another shot. Gunning the accelerator and praying I made my approach. It was touch and go but I kept climbing, sliding, climbing, passing another poor hapless bastard on my right who wasn't going to make it. I got to the top and presto a plow truck pulled out from Belleayre and I followed it down the mountain and made it home safe and sound.

Thank Nietzsche we already tilled and put out the rye grass in the garden cause it is buried in snow now.

Here's the before:

La, la, la spreading the winter rye, not a care in the world.

Here's the after.

Somewhere under there are the parsnips and scorzenera.

It's only October, it'll melt and I'll finish tilling, maybe.