Here along our section of the old Historic Iditarod Trail we came oh, so close to experiencing our all-time record winter snowfall. Just going by memory of what I’ve read, the all-time, set in the mid-1950s, was a skiff over 130 inches. We’re finishing winter somewhere around 128.

It’s been enough to move the mayor’s office to warn folks repeatedly to clear roofs. All over the area are cases of structures going ker-splat under the accumulated tonnage. This one pictured occurred so close to our place we could almost hear the trusses crrrreeaak, grrroooaann, then explode and land with a humongous  ka-whumpp! that musta pretty well ruined someone’s day.

 Remember our ol’ neighborhood roof moose of my Feb. 21^st post, (Up on the Rooftop Click, Click, Click)? I wonder if she might’ve been up to her shenanigans again and added the final straw. If so, hope she’s none the worse for her unexpectedly fast descent. As for the procrastinators who had their dreams so abruptly interrupted, sharing their bed with a few tons of snow and wreckage would have been bad enough without a disoriented mama moose all twisted up in the quilting with them. Life can hand people some big surprises out along the old Iditarod Trail.

Well, no procrastinators we! No sir. Only five days after the neighborhood cave in, and a few weeks of reminders and remonstrances from my beautiful bride, upon awakening in a cold sweat envisioning the long, unsupported span of our garage giving way, our on-the-ball hero called a work party.

In the picture, that’s my bud Gary on the left. Everyone should have a friend like Gary. He’s spoken of in my archived post, Nothing Like a Really Good Dog. Son Levi (in that story saved point blank from the giant grizzly by our heroic dog) sends another load down for ol’ Dad to blow away. Son Gabriel at age 13 wields a pretty mean shovel. I’m relieved that we still have Levi’s girlfriend Sarah (left)and my Laura (right) safely with us. I was worried that up there on peak they might be sent twanging off over the birch tops by the ridge responding like a released bowstring when relieved of its winter-long load.