Why There Are Sticks On The Door Mat

    Because of all of the Covid isolation, we haven’t really gotten visitors, but if we did and they came to the carport door, they might find themselves puzzled when seeing numerous sticks laying scattered on the door mat.  Here is an explanation.

    We do several walks with Kona around the pond and for some dog reason, when she gets to the wooded side of the pond, she insists upon grabbing a stick in her mouth and carrying it with her.  If she sees a stick protruding up through the snow, she will pull and worry it until it breaks off, then she proudly prances along the rest of the trail with the stick in her mouth to the house.

    She always wants to bring the stick into the house, but obeys, when I say, “Drop it,”  The stick then drops to the door mat where it lays with the all of the others in her collection, until I get around to throwing them away.

    I really don’t understand this behavior, but it seems really important to Kona.

You can view my paintings at davidmarchant2.ca

 

Frozen Fraser River

    This is a scene we see daily on our trip to town.  It is the Fraser River.  The Fraser is British Columbia’s major waterway and drains most of the Province.  It begins about 100 km (60 miles) west of McBride, then flows in a NW direction to Prince George, where it makes a sharp turn southward, cutting through deep canyons, before finally settling down and emptying into the Pacific Ocean in Vancouver.  It is about 1,400 kms (850 miles) in length and drains 220,000-square-kilometers ( 85,000 sq. miles).  

    As you can see it freezes over every winter.

You can see my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

The Power of Suggestion, Example Two

    In 1991 we travelled to Hawaii to visit relatives and to watch the eclipse of the sun.  While there, we decided to take an excursion to the Hawaiian Island of Kauai for a few days.  We had purchased some snorkels and were eager to try them out, so while there, we drove to Tunnel’s Beach, which was supposed to be one of the best snorkeling areas on the island.  

    It was a beautiful tropical beach with crystal clear water.   There were very few people there, and as we gathered up our snorkels from the car and walked toward the beach, I thought I overheard some of those on the shore mention something about a Moray Eel.  A moray eel is a pretty scary underwater predator with a bad reputation that is sometimes found in coral reefs.  It is not something I cared to see.

    Snorkeling at Tunnel’s Beach is a memory I will carry with me for the rest of my life.  The reef was huge and a lot of it was in very shallow water.  I was swimming around in water that only seemed about 2 feet deep (60cm).  Everywhere I could see numerous amazingly colored fish swimming, some alone and some in schools, and darting around as I carefully stroked my way through the shallow water, careful not to scrape against any of the coral, knowing that could cause nasty infections.  I was also very vigilant and kept an eye out for any moray eels.

    As I was slowly gliding my way through the water, suddenly something grabbed my leg.  Close to having a heart attack, I sprung from the water and turned around expecting to see blood spurting from my leg, where a moray clung.  Instead, I saw my wife, laughing at the trick she had played on me.

    Overhearing the discussion of the moray as we had walked to the beach, had planted the moray eel thought in my brain and even though it didn’t stop me from snorkeling, as I was swimming along, completely distracted by all of the colorful fish around me, that moray was still lurking there in my brain.

    One of the really memorable things about the snorkeling was the feeling of floating.  As I snorkeled further out from the shore, the reef slowly got a bit deeper, maybe four feet, then suddenly to my surprise, it just disappeared, leaving dark water below me.  It was such a strange sensation to remain floating along when suddenly the floor disappeared below me.  It seemed like I ought to fall too.

    It was an amazing snorkeling experience just like all those underwater nature documentaries, despite the near fatal heart attack I had when my wife grabbed my leg.

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

The Power of Suggestion

    The photo above shows a giant Douglas Fir tree.  I am going to mention a giant Douglas Fir in this blog, but it is not the same tree, but it was similar in size.

    For about eight years while working for the BC Forest Service, I worked at a Timber Cruiser.  I, along with a helper, would go out into a virgin forest to survey and measure the types of trees growing in an area to be logged and record the quality of the trees.   A lot of our cruising jobs were done in areas not readily accessible by roads, so it meant using a snowmobile, snowshoes, hiking, or a helicopter to get to the area we were going to cruise.

    Once there we had to “run” a baseline through the area.  I would pick an identifiable point (like a turn in a creek) that could be seen on an air photo, then using a coordinate and a compass, we would travel through the area, measuring the distance using a “chain” which was a narrow, flat, metal tape of 50 meters).  We would ‘flag”  (hanging a plastic ribbon” on a tree) every 50 meters. 

    Every 50 or 100 meters, we would stop and make a “plot”, measuring the diameters of the trees, recording the species, noting any indications of possible rot by seeing if the tree had a forked top, a scare, conks (fungus growing on the trunk), etc.   I would use a clinometer to determine the height of some of the trees in the plot, then we would move on through the forest with the compass and chain. 

    One day Barb, the co-worker who was helping me, and I where doing a timber cruise through a forest on the shore of Kinbasket Lake (south of the Village of Valemount).  It was a nice day, no rain, mosquitoes, or Devil’s Club (tall spiny plant), so the cruising was easy.  Being out alone in a wilderness forest never really caused any fear, we were used to doing it, and never really ran into any trouble.

    On this particular day, we spotted a giant Douglas Fir among the other trees.  We walked over to it to admire the ancient tree and while doing so, noticed some deep scratch marks on the thick bark above our heads.  They were obviously made by a bear.  I didn’t really think much about it, I had seen bear scratchings before, but then Barb said, “This much be a ‘Bear Tree’; a ‘Grizzly Marking Tree’.”

    She went on to explain, “Grizzly bears have certain trees they return to periodically to scratch.”  

    I had never hear of that before, but the visions of a huge grizzly bear scratching on the tree began to embed itself into my brain.  Barb too, seemed to be thinking the same thing.  

    We continued on with the timber cruise, and even though the conditions in the forest hadn’t changed, the cruise was no longer “easy”.  Our brains kept returning to thoughts of the “Bear Tree” and the huge Grizzly that visited it.  We remained paranoid for the rest of the afternoon during our cruise and were both quite relieved when were done for the day and returned safely to the truck.

    Like I said, I was out cruising in pristine wilderness day after day and was never fearful, but after seeing the Bear Tree and hearing Barb tell about Grizzly bears, the image seeped in and established itself in my brain, leaving me spooked the rest of the afternoon, even though we saw no fresh signs of a bear, and the scratchings on the tree might have been done a year before.

    Once given a suggestion like that, it is hard to let it go.

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Swimming Lessons

    From as far back as I can remember, I loved being in the water; splashing around and putting my head under to explore, but in those early days, I always kept my feet anchored securely on the bottom.  My sister and I loved to go on picnics, because picnics generally meant going to some place where there was a lake and a chance to go swimming.

    Sometime during the 1950’s my parents came upon an announcement from the Evansville YMCA, that they were offering swimming lessons.  Knowing how to swim is a very important life skill, so they signed their skinny young son up.

    I don’t remember exactly how long the swimming lessons lasted, maybe two weeks, but however long it was, my parents conscientiously drove me down town to the aging YMCA building that had the indoor pool where the lessons were held.  Because I loved to swim, I eagerly held the towel rolled around my swimming trunks, tight to my chest, as I entered through the big doors of the YMCA.

    I followed the other boys to the change room, left my towel and clothes in the locker, pinned the locker number key to my swimming trunks, then like the others, stood impatiently under the shower for a minute as instructed, before following the scent of chlorine to the pool.    As I remember it, the pool was located in a lower floor of the building with windows higher up on the wall.

    The entire swimming area was lined with tile and the sounds of the playful screams of us boys  reverberated from the walls.  The pool had blue tiles of course and featured a rope with white and red floats strung across it at its midpoint, separating the  shallow half from the DEEP WATER.

    Happily for me all of the lessons took part in the shallow half of the pool, where I could stand with my head out of the water and my feet on the pool bottom.  Learning to swim was enjoyable.  The lifeguards handed out some kick boards and we were shown how to hold them in front of us as we kicked our feet, propelling us though the water.  It was great fun and the whole group of us practiced with the kick boards, chaotically traversing around through the shallow end like a bunch of bumper cars.

    Next day we were instructed to stand in the pool laying our upper bodies on top of the water, then stroke with our arms, with our face down in the water, periodically turning our faces up to catch a breath, then putting the face back into the water, repeating the movements over and over.  We soon graduated to stroking our arms and at the same time we were kicking with our feet, propelling us short distances through the water, and being in the shallow end of the pool, we could always stop and stand when we were tired.

    It was demonstrated how to make shallow dives from the edge of the shallow end of the pool into the water.  This was an exciting skill to learn.  The swimming lessons always included some “Free Time” where we could practice the techniques we had learned or just clown around in the water.

    One day our lesson was cut short when everyone slowly began to cough.  More and more of us started leaving the pool, choosing to sit along the edge, hacking and coughing.  Fortunately one of the instructors finally realized that the mechanism that put chlorine into the water, was malfunctioning and was putting too much of the poison into the pool.  We all were told to leave the pool area, get dressed, and go back home.

    On the last day of our swimming lessons we were set to take the SWIMMING TEST.  When I  entered the pool area, I noticed that the rope that separated the shallow water from the DEEP WATER had been removed.  We were told that one by one, each of us had to dive into the DEEP WATER, swim the whole length of the pool to the shallow end, and then having passed that test, we would receive a certificate.  

    I was terrified.  It didn’t help my confidence to have to sit there watching the other boys dive into the DEEP WATER.  Some would swim and others struggled.  Those, full of confidence, made it look easy, but others panicked; flaying and splashing their arms in desperation, until they were rescued by a lifeguard.

    With all of my insecurities, I knew which type of boy I would be, so I hung back along the side of the pool, trying to look invisible, fearing the moment when my name would be called.

    Luckily, all of those fears I had were in vain.  I would like to tell you that I bravely dived into the DEEP WATER, swam across to the far end of the pool, and got my certificate, but that didn’t happen.  Instead my prayers of desperation had been answered and the time allotted the last swimming class ran out before my name was called.  Happily, I went back to the locker room and got dressed, instead of having to be rescued by a lifeguard.  

    Even though the swimming class was over and I failed to get a certificate, I did learn to swim.  Using all of the skills and instructions I had learned in the swimming lessons, every time our family went on a picnic by a lake (below), I practiced and taught myself how to swim and eventually became comfortable about being in the DEEP WATER.

   

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

ted the last swimming class ran out before my name was called.  Happily, I went back to the locker room and got dressed, instead of having to be rescued by a lifeguard.  

    Even though the swimming class was over and I failed to get a certificate, I did learn to swim.  Using all of the skills and instructions I had learned in the swimming lessons, every time our family went on a picnic by a lake (below), I practiced and taught myself how to swim and eventually became comfortable about being in the DEEP WATER.

    view my paintings

Frozen Water At Silvacan Elementary School

    Freezing water has long been a winter fear of mine.  Thankfully it has been many years since our water at home has frozen up, but there have been several winters when we have had to do without running water for months. 

    My first experience with freezing water occurred in 1975, when I was teaching in a one room school located on Takla Lake, BC at the Silvacan Resources lumber mill camp. ( Above is a photo of my students standing in front of the school.) 

    When pouring through my diary of 1975, I read about the long period of time I had to carry water to the school because its water froze up.  Here is what I wrote about the incident:

      “On February 13th of 1975 the temperatures plummeted even further, reaching -40°F, and in the morning when I arrived for work I discovered that the school’s water had frozen up.  I notified Frank, (the camp boss), and I spent a few hours after school with him as he tried unsuccessfully to unthaw it.  I soon came to conclusion that it was likely frozen under the dirt road that ran in front of the school, since the temperature in the crawlspace under the school felt reasonably toasty.”

    The camp maintenance men worked several days in a row trying to unthaw the waterline.  They used a welder attached at two different spots on the copper water pipes to try to thaw any ice in between,   but they were unsuccessful in their attempts, and as a result I had to carry buckets of water to the school every day for the kids to use.  Fortunately if they had to go to the bathroom, they were allowed to walk across the road and use the facilities in the camp’s bunkhouse.

A few days later a broken water main was discovered that was causing flooding behind a couple of the houses.  Once that was repaired, we got the school’s water back, and I was told to just let the water slowly run continually from the tap inside the school to prevent further freezing, and this I did.

     I made a grim discovery the next morning upon arriving at the school when I found that I couldn’t open the door.

During the night the water that I had been told to keep gently flowing, had backed up in the drainpipe, which I assume was still frozen, and as a result the school floor had been flooded.  The flooded water had run across the floor to the school’s front door and when it had tried to run under the door, because of the freezing temperatures, it had frozen.  It was the ice that had formed there that had prevented me from opening the door.  I didn’t record in my diary how I finally got the door open, but eventually I did.  

That first freezing water episode was only a precursor of what was to come.  On February 26th the school water again ceased to flow because of freezing and it would be months before we got it back.      

    It’s interesting how quickly I accepted that reality.  In my diary I didn’t even mention the frozen water at school again until March 3rd, and then the next time was on April 17th, when I report that “..the water is still frozen at school.”

    The ice in the pipes didn’t thaw until June 8th.  It seems like that would be a tremendous event, but on that day all my diary entry said was:  “School water finally thawed out and dribbled out of the drinking fountain unto the floor.”

    When you live out in the boonies, you learn to do without a lot of things most people take for granted.

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

The Cariboo Mountains

    The Robson Valley is part of the Rocky Mountain Trench and is nestled between the Canadian Rocky Mountain Park Range of Mountains on the north and the Cariboo Mountains to the south.  The Cariboo Range is 245 km (150 miles) in length and is part of the larger Columbia Mountains.  As you might have guessed the name is a misspelling of Caribou, the North American Reindeer, which used to be common in the area, but are now near extinction.  

    The name was first referenced in 1861 when gold was discovered around Barkerville, BC.  It led to what is now called the Cariboo Gold Rush.  

    I took the photo yesterday on our walk on Horseshoe Lake Road.  The sun was out and it was extremely bright, shining on all of the snow and clouds.  My camera went a bit haywire as a result, making the photos I took very washed out.  I had to do some fiddling with the photo to make it look presentable.

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Alpenglow

    When the mountains pick up the colors of a sunrise or sunset it is called “Alpenglow.”  The photo shows a nice example of the phenomenon caused by a sunrise that I witnessed the other day.  I realize I have been showing a lot of sunsets and sunrises on my blog, but during the winter I become pretty starved of color and whenever I come upon some, it becomes significant to me.

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

A Walk Around The Pond

    Now that we are able to walk on top of the snow without breaking all the way through, when it is time to take Kona for a walk, what I generally do is walk her around the pond.  We do this a couple of times a day.   I always have my camera with me, so yesterday I took a couple of photos on the walk.  Above, shows where we walk on the dam.  It was a nice treat to see the sun shining on the mountains peaking through the snow-covered Alder trees that line the dam.

    Below shows a tiny bit of open water on the pond’s outflow.  It has suddenly emerged through the snow since the weather has moderated from the intense cold.  

You can view my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Putting On A Glow

    In the evening yesterday around 4:30 I was out behind my snowblower clearing the driveway of snow.  I looked up and noticed the sky over the Cariboo Mountains.  There was color, not a spectacular and dramatic, but color, just a subtle pinkish glow.  I had my iPhone in my pocket, so I took off my gloves, dug dug the phone out of my pocket, and snapped this picture.

    All day long everything had been black, gray, or white; devoid of color, so I found this insignificant hint of pink somehow renewing.

    You can view my colorful paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Around The World In Eighty Days

    When you hear the title, “Around the World in Eighty Days” what is the image that pops into your mind?   For me it was always the big colorful balloon carrying the characters over the Alps.  Although I was a big fan of Jules Verne’s adventure stories in my youth and loved the movies based on his tales (The Mysterious Island, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, Journey to the Center of the Earth, From the Earth to the Moon, and of course, Around the World in Eighty Days) I don’t think I actually read many of his novels.

    One that I for sure hadn’t read was Around the World in Eighty Days, and I didn’t even see the 1956 block-buster movie, until a decade later, and since then I have watched it numerous times.  Presently PBS has been airing a new mini-series of Around the World, which I have been watching.  It didn’t take me long to realized that the series had ventured far away from the 1956 movie.  They added a woman reporter and a black Passepartout sidekick, along with additional adventures in each locations that the troupe visited.  

    I read novels constantly and recently finished the book I was on.  I lkogged on to the McBride Library’s e-book download site to find another one to start.  There I noticed Around the World, and since I had never read it, downloaded it and began reading.  It was a revelation.  

    All my knowledge of Verne’s tale was based on the 1956 movie and the episodes I had watched of series on PBS, and so I was very surprised to discover that in the novel, there is no balloon.  I was amazed since there was one in both filmed versions.  I found a lot of other storyline differences also.  

    In the last PBS series episode I watched, the characters were struggling through the Sahara Desert, in the novel, Fogg and Passepartout floated down the Suez Canal, not the desert.  Below is a map showing Fogg’s trip from the novel:

    Curiously, if you compare this map with the one on the novel’s cover at the top, you will see that whoever chose the cover hadn’t even read the book, because it is really off base.

    Of course films can never stick entirely to the original story, and love to enhance the plot using “artistic license” to add adventure and interest to the tale, but I liked the simpler storyline in Verne’s novel more than either of the two filmed versions.

                                        You can see my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Expanded Horizons

    I have been belly-aching about how difficult it was to walk around outside.  We had about 20 inches (50 cm) of soft snow on the ground which was extremely difficult to walk through unless you had snowshoes on, but then the weather warmed up and rained.  This knocked the snow down to about one foot (30 cm), but you still couldn’t really walk through it.  The rain also made all of the surface of our paths (which I had packed-down with snowshoes) irregular and slippery.  The foot of snow on the ground remained too soft to walk through.

    I was feeling pretty house-bound and Kona was feeling even worse, because we couldn’t really spend much time safely walking her around our place, but then we got a hard freeze.  This froze the foot of rain-soaked snow on the ground enough for me to walk on top of it without sinking.  So now Kona and I can easily walk just about anywhere we want on top of the snow, without sinking through.  It has sure expanded our horizons.

My paintings can be seen at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Found Some Grass

    Most of the Robson Valley is still covered with about 8 to 10 inches (20 to 25 cm) of snow, and it is a hard icy snow.  Luckily this herd of deer discovered an open area with grass between the highway and the frontage road, and they are happily grazing on it. 

    The deer are not the only ones that discovered the grass.  With everything so icy, I have been having a hard time figuring out where I could safely walk Kona and I found another patch of open ground near the frontage road where I have been taking Kona for her walk.  Luckily, the deer weren’t in view where we did our walk, because Kona would have gone nuts with barking and pulling on her leash.

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Boys And Their Toys

 

    We live beside a normally quiet road without much traffic, but that changes during the winter.  Pickup truck, after expensive pickup truck, towing trailer, after expensive trailer, carrying snowmobiles, after expensive snowmobiles, come roaring past our house heading for a popular alpine snowmobiling area, so they can blast around in their loud machines in the snow.  It is very unfortunate, but our little village of McBride has become a snowmobile destination.

    This wasn’t always the case and I can remember how it started.  When I was working for the Forest Service, one winter’s day the man who was in charge of recreation was flying over one of the large alpine in a helicopter.  I think it was the helicopter pilot, after looking down, replied, “You could loose a hundred snowmobiles there.”  The Forestry Recreation Officer pursued that discovery, thus sealing the end of peace in the winter alpine.  Ever since, accessible local alpine areas are filled with screaming machines.

         Now snowmobilers, most of which are from Alberta, are all over the alpine.  Fueled by big engines and alcohol, they play a game called “High Marking”, where they drive straight up slide (avalanche) chutes to see who can make their machines go the highest.  Occasionally, the avalanche comes down on them.  Sometimes, they drive their snowmobiles out to the edge of the cliffs to look over the edge, not realizing they are no longer on the mountain, but on a cornice of snow.  Snowmobilers die in the mountains every year.

    In 2016, little McBride made international news after an avalanche, started by snowmobilers, buried and killed 5 other snowmobilers who were eating lunch below them.  It is indeed a wonder that more aren’t killed considering the reckless behavior.

    In the summer, after the snow melts away, and the snowmobilers leave, all of the beer cans, food wrappers, and snowmobile parts remain, littering what used to be a pristine fragile alpine.  A friend who was hiking in the alpine one summer actually found a snowmobile that had been left up there.  After reporting it to the police the whole story came out.

    The snowmobile had engine trouble and quit running.  The owner was able to ride out with someone else.  The next day, they went back to get the snowmobile but couldn’t find it in the massive alpine, so they just reported it stolen and got the insurance money.

       Now, snowmobilers, most of which are from Alberta,  are all over the alpine.  Fueled by big engines and alcohol they play a game called “High Marking”, where they drive straight up slide (avalanche) chutes to see who can make their machines go the highest.  Occasionally, the avalanche comes down on them.  Sometimes, they drive their snowmobiles out to the edge of the cliffs to look over the edge, not realizing they are no longer on the mountain, but on a cornice of snow.  Snowmobilers die in the mountains every year.  It is indeed a wonder that more aren’t killed considering the reckless behavior.

    It is not uncommon to hear the motorheads remark, “I’d like to come back here in the summer with my ATV (All Terrain Vehicle).”  I live in fear of that they would find an easy way up to the alpine, because that would be the death knell of the fragile, slow growing alpine.  At least during the winter, most of the alpine plants are protected by the deep snow.  The plants that struggle to grow in the extreme conditions of the alpine, are easily killed and not easily replaced.  The BC government is too addicted to the Alberta tourist money and local rider pressure to put in restrictions to ATV’s in the alpine.

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

Am I Going To Get Back Up It?

    The weather forecast for yesterday called for “Snow, sometimes heavy,”  instead we got “Rain, sometimes heavy.”  It was a very miserable day.  When the afternoon came, we knew that Kona would be desperate to go out for a walk, but looking at the weather and knowing how icy every of our potential walking places were, my wife opted out, so it was left up to me. 

    I decided to try Horseshoe Lake Road, but once I got there I saw that it was pretty much glare ice.  I slowly and cautiously drove down the hill to the parking area anyway.  Kona and I walked carefully on the shallow snow along the side of the road which provided some traction.  Once she had had enough, we turned around and headed back to the car.  It was then I saw the ice-covered curve and hill of the road and wondered if the car would be able to make it up the glazed surface.

    Luckily the four-wheel drive did its stuff and we got up the hill and returned home safely.  Things are sure treacherous for walking outside.  It is still raining today and I wish it was snowing instead.  That would adhere to the wet ice and make things safer.

View my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Downy Woodpeckers

    I have mentioned before about my “peanut butter log” and how much birds (and squirrels, and deer) love to eat the peanut butter, well here is a photo I took of two Downy Woodpeckers busy stuffing their faces with the stuff.  Downy Woodpeckers range across most of North America and Canada and they are the smallest woodpeckers around.  The are 6-7 inches (15-18 cm) long.  I have a couple of pairs of Downy Woodpeckers around our place.

Take a look at my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Please Take Me Outside, I Am So Bored

    Kona, with her head resting on the arms of a chair, looks up with her pleading eyes, and we get the message, she is tired of laying around in the house, she wants to be outside.  We’ve thrown her ball inside, we’ve given her time consuming snacks, but that’s just not enough, she wants to be outside to smell the animal scents and act like a wild dog.

    Unfortunately, taking her outside these days isn’t that easy.  The deep snow is rotten and can’t support her weight.  The snowshoed paths I have made are no longer as firm as they were, so my boots constantly break through the snow, or slide sideways.  The driveway is again so treacherous with ice, I feel like I am risking my life to walk on it.  (I will throw some more sand on it after I am done with this blog).  In short, things are just not very conducive to taking Kona for a walk outside, so we have to deal with an unhappy, very bored dog.

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

 

Color in the East (and the West)

    As I was painting my daily square, I happened to glance out of the window to see the flaming clouds of a spectacular sunrise.  My scramble to get my camera made Kona explode in a barking fit, but out the door I went.  I got to the top of the driveway and took the photo above.  

    While everyone’s eyes are always drawn to the color of dramatic sunrise or sunset, they don’t always turn around to see what is going on behind them and that is often quite amazing too.  The photo below shows what was going on at the same time in the west. 

View my paintings at:  davidmarchant2.ca

The Glacier on the Roof

    Our above freezing temperatures have cause all of the snow-buildup on the roof to start to slowly move down-slope.  I am always fascinated when this happens, to see the snow curl, yet not break off, when it extends over the end of the roof.  Ice that has formed at the bottom of the snow-load is amazingly strong and keeps the snow in one piece until eventually its weight does cause it to break, or until I get a shovel and break it.  (I am always in fear that it might break and fall on one of our pets.)

    Our house has two roof levels, and eventually, we will hear and feel the “Boom” when snow from the upper level finally breaks off and falls to the lower level.  

    The photo below shows the overburden of snow hanging outside the upstairs window.

Take a look at my paintings:  davidmarchant2.ca