Here in the Pacific Northwest we say, we don't tan, we rust. My retort: At least we don't have to shovel it. And that's why we moved here. I've probably mentioned before, that when we moved to Canada from Omaha some 26 years ago, we were asked why we were moving to such a cold place. The answer included a meteorological explanation of the Japanese currents and the mild weather.
It took me years to get used to the rain, but now I can't complain. If it snows, we park close to the end of the driveway, wait a day or two, and poof! The melting snow creeps backward and runs down the street. There has only been one exception that I can remember to this rule.
This past weekend we went to Harrison Hot Springs for C's company Christmas party. It's a celebration par excellence, located an hour and a half from home. In old school style, but in the modern day interest of keeping employees safe, they provide a seafood and prime rib buffet, all you can drink for what feels like the length of an average work day, a brekkie buffet, and to keep us off the streets, the hotel room in between.
Heavy rainfall warnings were in effect for the entire weekend. We arrived at nightfall on Friday. The next morning's sunrise produced an eerie blue cast to the lake:
The rain held off long enough for us to explore the nearby Agassiz pioneer cemetery:
The clouds lifted revealing the snowline:
It brought back memories of when C & I first saw such a defined snow line one October. We went up the mountain to explore, only to discover that dusting was actually two feet of snow.
The next day the lake was socked in and soggy:
Driving home, past one of BC's wintering grounds for Bald Eagles, even the birds were soaked:
But like I said, it might be grey, it may be wet, but we don't have to shovel it. And it's a perfect climate for knitting.
Life's a Stitch 
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