Blizzard diary

Out here, a nor’easter has to be intense to get my attention, but the storm known as “Kenan” certainly qualified.

Shelter Island’s average annual snowfall is about 26 inches. On Saturday, the  National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration reported 25 inches of snow in Orient and winds of 52 mph in Southold. North Ferry recorded winds gusting at just about that speed.

Some say Shelter Island got a lot more than two feet of snow; some measured 18 inches.

There was plenty of snow to go around.

7 a.m. Saturday The view from the bedroom window is obscured by white fluff on the screen, the bushes are bent, and the snow is traveling horizontally at a high rate of speed past the house. It looks like 8 inches so far.

8 a.m. An hour spent watching snow blowing across the yard, tree limbs sweeping back and forth, and the formation on our roof of a massive snow shelf teetering perilously above the south side of the house. Note to self: Don’t linger near the house.

10 a.m. Blizzard or no blizzard, the hound has to go out. The Heights snow plow had already made at least four passes up and down the street, so attired in layers of wool with spiky protrusions on my boots, we venture out. About two feet tall, Mabel immediately encounters a drift, disappearing into a wall of white with only her tail visible. Retreating from the drift, she circumnavigates the igloo-like mound and heads for a patch of bare earth scoured by the wind on the north side of the house. Five minutes later, we ‘re back inside.

Noon On television, I watch a reporter for News 12 put a measuring stick into the snow outside Wickham’s farm stand in Cutchogue and measure 16 inches of snow. At the time, 10 inches of snow is piled up against my door, even though the door in question is protected by a porch.

2 p.m. I’m getting stir-crazy inside and the winds drop, so I strap on snow shoes and go out. I’m sinking to my shins, so I walk in the street. It’s still blowing about 30 mph, so I make a circuit of the Heights avoiding power lines, on roads which are miraculously plowed and passable even though nothing is open and no one is out.

3 p.m. There are signs of life at the hardware store, and sounds of a generator. It’s still snowing hard. Looking east across Dering Harbor, the sky is gray and sooty, and the wind drives particles of sleet and snow into my eyes. I see two people walking a dog, and another couple walking toward the Post Office. I’m the only one wandering around by herself without a clear objective, so I snow-shoe home.

7 p.m. With daylight fading and the snow slowing down, my neighbors are out shoveling, lest temperatures in the teens turn two feet of snow into a glacier in the driveway.

9 a.m. Sunday Cold but sunny, I decide to dig out. When John from the Heights sees me flailing helplessly against the wall of snow at the end of my driveway, he maneuvers his plow as though he is parallel-parking a tractor-trailer, freeing my Subaru from an icy sarcophagus.

I’m so grateful.  It was a great storm.