cereal bowls and iron forks

I thought that a few feet was a lot of snow. But that was until I went up the mountain to the lady bear's townhouse.

This buried faux-Inuit's head is level with the second story window of the house.

The back porch had a little accumulation.

I strapped on my snow shoes, cut some steps into the snow pack, and climbed up to start digging it out. After almost an hour of digging, I had managed to clear away all the fluffy powder and start on the solid base. 

The lady bear came out to help, but after struggling with a few 40 pound shovel loads, she decided that I was doing fine by myself, and she scurried back inside. 

In need of a shoveling break, I hopped off the porch into the soft snow, and sunk up to the middle of my chest. I started the exhausting wade around the row of townhouses. When the cleat of my snowshoe grated against something hard, I dug down to see what it was, and uncovered a large transparent plastic ball. 

"What the hell is this?" I mumbled. I studied it for a few more seconds, then it hit me. It was the top of a street light. I sat down on top of it.

Sadly, the snow has forced the postponement of Celtic 'Cross. That's massively lame, but I'll deal. After all, I may not get many more opportunities to sit on a lamp post.