It's funny, but somehow four degrees doesn't seem to bother me anymore. Sure it's a shock at the beginning of the winter, but by this point it's like "Eh, four? I really don't think I need my pants if it's four outside..."
Okay fine, I usually wear my pants when I go outside. But the mittens and the hat? Not so much. I guess the body just adapts to these things--hot or cold. When we first moved to Dallas, for example, I only felt the need to sit on my porch in my underpants for sixty days or so. After that point I was completely able to cope with a full one-piece bathing suit.
Today I wanted to give you a taste of what winter looks like in my neck of the woods. So, without further ado, please feast your eyes upon my super crappy photography.
This first picture is the snowbank on the left side of our driveway. And let me tell you, I'd happily give Jared's right nut in exchange for a snow blower--we built that thing with our own four hands. If you look to the left of the shovel and up a little bit, that black dot is the top of our lamppost--fer real. And I also took the liberty of measuring the shovel, it's five foot four, almost as tall as me.
This second picture illustrates the fact that this snow bank isn't only tall, but that bad boy is long, too.
Jared and I like to keep these cross county skis conveniently propped in a snowbank next to our side door--simply for the fact that it makes us look cooler than we actually are. When people come to our house they're always like, "Did you just get back from skiing?" And I'm like "Yup," and then I cough the words 'in November' under my breath. Cross county skiing my ass--I'm far too busy watching Biggest Loser reruns to do something cold and ridiculous like that.
And finally, here in Maine, lots of our roofs look like this:
They're metal, the snow slides off on it's own (otherwise you have to shovel your roof), they come in every color of the rainbow (seriously), and they supposedly last forever. My sister thinks they're ugly, which is funny, because I think stinky guy who hangs out at the bus stop in front of her house is kinda ugly, too.
Oh, and I'd like to point out that the roof up there belongs to my neighbor. I'd never let my trim look all raggedy like that--trust me, I'd have my Dad paint it before it ever got to that point.
So there ya have it, a little taste of winter in Maine. Stay tuned for the ice fishing shacks...