Although we’ve had an exceptionally mild winter this year, yesterday we had a reminder that old man winter still has a few tricks up his sleeve. (Probably a Thinsulate™ parka of some sort.) In any case, I awoke to several inches of the heaviest, stickiest snow that I have ever encountered in my life. It was so sticky that when I scooped up a big shovel full and tried to “toss” the load to the side – that the 50 or 60 pounds of precipitation on my shovel actually stuck to the scoop and basically tried to pull me over into the snow drift that was my front yard. It was at that point that my wife, snuggly outfitted in a warm robe and fuzzy slippers, helpfully hollered out the front door “Don’t have a heart attack or anything!” as she sipped her latte and looked concerned. I am sure that I looked only slightly less miserable and confused than the snow encrusted Robin perched in the sugar maple in my front yard: it had apparently thought it safe to migrate North, he was wrong. But it is March, and that other sort of March madness aside, cabin fever will soon be abating in this well-preserved part of the world. And I am actually a little sad about that. As of now, there is absolutely no logical reason (apart from snow shoveling) that I should poke my nose outside of my shop. If it gets real nice and the fish start to bite … that could change. But sufficient unto that day … it’s still plenty cold and nasty outside, and warm and cozy in my shop. If you need me, you know where to find me.
– Rob Johnstone, Woodworker’s Journal Magazine