in which I say to hell with it
April 5, I woke up to discover 18 inches of snow in the front yard. And the back yard. And what in Maine they call the door-yard.
So, of course, when I came home from work, I discovered that all the snow on the roof had slid off and was piled in front of the door.
The guy who plows had just done the first 20 feet or so, enough so that I could pull off the road. I guess he saw that, with the ground no longer frozen, he was pushing up as much dirt as snow.
What this meant, aside from my having to walk back to the house in my footprints from the morning, was that nothing had been added to the snowbank at the side of the house. So, if you look to the right, you'll see that I just said to hell with it and walked around to the back porch and came in that way.
Which I will continue to do until lilacs next in the door-yard bloom.