American Gothic: 30 years

We were planning on Japanese cuisine to celebrate our thirty long years of wedded bliss, but Mother Nature stepped in last night, in a great white way.  The phone rang at 6:30 this morning. 

"I'm not getting it.  Don't get it." I said.

I assumed it was some customer (orchard grower) from China.  For some reason they never seem to accurately gauge Central Standard Time.  I get calls anywhere from 2:00 am and beyond.  It used to be unsettling when our kids were high school and college-aged, getting a call in the wee hours of the night.  Even more unsettling when, in a sleepy stupor, I could not make out the language or accent of the person calling.

From the living room I heard a booming male voice (note to self: turn down the volume on that answering machine.), explaining that he was so and so from US Department of Agriculture (Manhattan), and all offices would be closed today.

So one would think that this would be a snow day for that Spouse o' Mine, but he reckoned that the halls and offices would be empty, thus giving him uninterrupted work hours, and off he went, into the quarter-mile visibility of white.      

After lunch I went out and performed my third shoveling of the day (I learned in our Michigan years that a quick shovel of fluffy flakes every few hours beats a massive, liquid-laden shovel at the end of the day, hands-down.  The snow had not abated one whit all day, and the wind had picked up.  The drifts were drifting more and more.  So I called that Spouse o' Mine and gave him the rural road weather report; he might like to start home, or else plan to spend the night at some farm or ranch down the road.

We opted to take a snow-check of the Japanese cuisine, and instead, took our XC skis out of the tack room and headed for the Wabaunsee Nordic Ski center.  Also known as our pasture.  It was a good time, with my best friend.