Yesterday, big fat snowflakes fell lazily from the sky, the
blanket of snow growing ever deeper with each passing hour of the day. An
unusual quiet fell over town with the added insulation and the decrease in
traffic. Footprints were quickly filled in so that no matter where I walked I
seemed to be the first to have tread there. It was definitely a day for
mukluks. Real, falling snow is such a rare treat here. Instead, we are usually
cursed with snow like todays: fierce gusts of wind kick up the snow that is
already on the ground, obscuring buildings, the howling winds drowning out any
other sound. The old snow, now having been iced over, is as abrasive as sand. I
cringe against the assault on the skin of my exposed cheeks during the short dash between buildings.
It has already been nearly a week since the first two
flights of mainbody arrived, bringing new faces and the tiniest bit of mail.
The other promised flights of this last week have yet to occur, stymied by the
ongoing snow and poor visibility. Two days ago, on a venture out on the sea
ice, the skies looked promising, but by late afternoon, low grey clouds moved
in, settling over the sound and obliterating any possibility of landing a plane
here.
As I sit typing, cold air seeps in through the aging window.
The curtain flutters in the breeze, and the cold air grazes the back of my
neck. On the rare still day, my dorm room is unbearably hot, but this
antiquated building with its ancient boiler struggles to keep up against the
Antarctic wind.
With any luck, the winds will change, the skies will clear,
and the coming week will bring with it several hundred more people, pallets of
mail, and lots of fresh produce, the likes of which I haven’t seen in over a
month.
