Barbara's Snow-Jones
When I saw that Barbara was resorting to old photos to feed her Snow-Jones, I realized it was time for drastic action.That meant putting on the hat, coat, gloves and boots and going outside to take a new picture. Besides, the mail had arrived. (See that strange, spaceship-looking object at the end of the yard? That's the locked mailbox that serves our court.) Anyway, this is for Barbara, a pic of my front yard before I tromped through all that pristine snow to grab the mail and run back inside.
And here is part of my backyard in all its white, untrampled glory. The front garden is the tomato bed, all tucked in for the winter. Just beyond it is where my Knockout Roses bloom in the summer. They're a gorgeous deep red color, and I underplant them with lots of yellow and pink dahlias. (Oh, hurry summer!)
Now, having done my good deed for the day, I'm going back to work. No, not on the Never-Ending Baby Blanket, but on my new book. The N-EBB will get my attention this evening, while my DH lounges in front of the tube.
Labels: baby blanket, snow, winter
posted by Fran Baker at 3:09 PM
3 Comments:
Boy, did I ever need that snow fix, Fran! Thank you from the bottom of my snow-jonesing heart. I wish you could have seen me earlier this morning. Some serious-looking flakes had started to fall and I flew out onto the back deck like a crazy woman in PJs and bright red socks so I could celebrate the event. Unfortunately the snow stopped soon after (I probably scared hell out of it) and I'm hoping & praying more is on its way. Not the ice storm they're discussing, just nice plain fluffy white snow. Thank you for donning the coat and hat and gloves and boots and making this poor sad Northeasterner's heart sing!
We've got the ice storms here. We have the snow too, it came first and then the ice and now more snow. I really just wanted snow. I hope you get to see some of the white fluffy stuff this winter.
Looks like my yard. Well, my backyard. My front yard -- the front door, the walkway, and part of the yard, anyway -- were buried in a waist-deep drift. Not so good for pajama dancing.
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