I found this blog comment from "Sillygirl" in my email this morning:
"It's Monday and I bet your yard looks a bit different this morning. We need photos!"
Well, that was a 8 AM and I was just getting out of bed after a less than restful night's sleep. But duty called. By 9:00 I was risking life and limb - that was just trying to get my big rubber Muck boots on while bundled up. It was 23 degrees, and blowing snow. Out I went, first to fetch the newspaper out at the street.
It started raining lightly about 1:00 Sunday afternoon. Sometime after the Superbowl started at 3:30 the rain turned to "slushing", with the temperature around 35. Gradually the rain/snow mix got whiter and the temperature began to slowly drop. This morning it was 23, and at 11:00, it is still holding at 23. That means the snow is sifted down over a layer of frozen rain/slush, or in other words, ice. The streets are not plowed or de-iced. This car will not be making it up the hill. That's why hilly Seattle and the surrounding area are on a snow day.
The flowers I bragged about are not pleased.
My footprints will be a measure of how much more show we get since it is still snowing, although it is hard to tell which is new falling snow and which is powdery snow blowing around in the wind.
The greenhouse roof is not insulated.
The depth of snow in the back yard depends on proximity to the trees.
Tulips punctuating the snow. 
Snow here is about four inches deep.
Rosemary was happy and blooming. Now she's not.
A new variety of mop head hydrangea.
Cotton bushes?
Peony hoop, or snow waffle.
I have circled the house and I'm back around to the front.
Witch hazel
Maple tree filigree.
In the back, on the patio, where the snow drifted in: cold beer, anyone?
The wind spinner isn't accumulating snow. It's too busy spinning in the wind.
I don't think we'll be sitting here today. I wonder if Charlie will show up?
Yup, it's a snow day. Tom said that's why it's OK if I put off the house work to play with pictures. It's a snow day.
With dry, mild days, Tom has been spending a lot of time outside working in the yard. He has all of the winter pruning done, so next on his list was making potting soil, using compost from our bins. Then he rebuilt the steps under the cedar tree.
We have been in our house 40 years now, and trees grow in that amount of time. We are the keepers of two magnificent old Western Red Cedar trees. Early on in our time here Tom built steps down under this tree leading to the lower yard and deck. Over time the steps have been adjusted to accommodate the flare of the roots of the tree as it expands. This is the latest iteration.
Charlie thought it was fun to roll in the new gravel.
The other cedar is at the corner of our patio. Tom noticed that the roots are now lifting a corner of the patio.
Concerned that the pressure might crack the patio or push it into the foundation, he bought some cheap concrete cutting blades for his skill saw and cut a section of the patio.
A little bit at a time he gradually cut deeper and deeper, but did not go all the way through before using up four blades. He might do more later, but his sore hands told him to stop for now. Time and pressure might finish the job.
Of course he tends to his greenhouse regularly.
I finished the place mats that go with my table topper.
They are like little quilts but much more fun because the size is easy to handle and I just make them up as I go along, depending on how big the scraps are that I have to work with.
Then three days this week I actually went outside in the afternoons to work in the garden too. I am by nature a garden groomer. I am most effective on my hands and knees, cleaning out beds, trimming back perennials, making things look prettier.
I filled lots of bins with sticks, fir cones, and trimmings.
The tulips are coming up here!
By Thursday Tom was out of other jobs, so he helped too.
It's all looking pretty spiffy around here for the middle of winter.
Now it's finally February. The rains came back, with freezing temps and maybe snow in the forecast. I guess winter was just waiting.
