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Southern Oregon Journal: Pretty snow is no laughing matter Sunday Jan 8, 2017 at 12:01 AM By Peggy Dover for the Mail Tribune I just booked myself a room in a White City hotel for Oliver (cat who hates travel) and me. I’m dreading it. I hope this is funny by the time I read it Sunday, but right now I find little humor, just a mean deja phooey. I mean, it was only three years ago that my heaters went kaput and sparked a column describing in embarrassing detail my heat-challenged plight. This morning, in mid-crossword puzzle and oatmeal, my power flickered and died — five hours without thus far. It’s supposed to be 15 degrees tonight, and HOW ABOUT THAT SNOW, eh? Who could imagine that a lacy little weightless bit of flounce could tear down trees and power lines? Their disguise is brilliant, if not diabolical. And this New Year week will go down as one to remember — a nonpartisan mix of wonder and woe, but mostly wonder. Until this morning, Oliver and I felt smug as bugs with only a dwindling food supply to worry us. With a healthy store of Christmas chocolate and coffee, and canned cod for Ollie, we enjoyed the picture-postcard view from our living room, with varying degrees of flakage drifting past the street lamp at night through white-topped branches. Ah, so pretty falling down and accumulating like mad! Speaking of bugs, they don’t freeze in the winter. An army of Valley Forge-weary ants invaded my once-warm kitchen last night. Boy, will they be disappointed. They’ll be packing up and trudging right out again about midnight if things don’t change. Anyway, instead of pacing around in my Under Armour and muffler, I decided to go for a walk in the pretty snow drifts, with a snorkel. After all, if Lynn could survive it, so could I, even if she is from New York and I'm from Phoenix, Arizona (eons ago). It might not have been the best decision so far this year, but I decided to drive up the hill to Alta Vista, where I normally hike. When I pulled out of the driveway and felt Fiona’s rear end making with Samba moves, I stuck out my chin and went forward, stubbornly committed to my decision in the face of common sense. Her backfield went into motion a couple more times before I safely landed her in a deserted parking lot. The first thing I noticed was that the snow was deeper than I’d envisioned. It quickly eclipsed my Nike swoosh. The day called for snow boots, but once out on the path, a route I have neglected too many times during the holiday baking season, I felt invigorated, and my tennies performed remarkably well. No slips, no falls, no errors, just a breathtaking view of the surrounding countryside sporting a white tux. Our valley does look good in snow. But upon returning, I was still powerless. One thing I have learned is that life and situations often turn around quickly, which is demonstrated nowhere better than with Southern Oregon climate. As I readied to leave Lynn’s, where I had billeted, I consigned myself to packing up a few things, including the infamous litter box, and spending the night sleepless in White City. At the 11th hour, about 2:30 in this case, my power was restored. Bless you, Pacific Power, you hard-working sons of guns. This morning dawned bright and frigid. I rolled over in a warm bed and thought of my hummingbird, as in the one who has stuck with me through ice and midsummer swelter. I just made the second switch-out as the nectar freezes and Lady Anna makes a desperation dive-bomb. I actually flinched — fierce little navigators, they are. Oliver and I have returned to our spectator seats, at least until our world melts its cold, cold heart into familiar rain. The snowfall has left beauty behind, turning hard and stingy, while the sky above blinks crystal clear and innocent. May your year be like the sky, and may we, like Boy Scouts, be prepared. — Peggy Dover is a freelance writer living in Eagle Point. Email her at [email protected]