The Great Thaw

A historic blizzard dumped over 2 feet of snow on us, but worse than the snow accumulation were the winds – some reaching over 70mph. Our parking spot at our MA home-base is surrounded by trees, and those branches couldn't handle the gusts. Our RV came away with roof damage and leaks. But the most important thing is that we were safe. We took refuge inside my parents' house during the worst of the storm. The immediate aftermath involved us trying our best to patch our leaks from the inside until we could get up on the roof. With that much snow, we'd be waiting a while.

The stress and exhaustion led to another unfortunate repercussion: the whole family got hit with a virus. I got it worst and spent the entire next week mostly bedridden. It felt like one hit after another.

Then, one more hit:

We were dealing with so much that we barely realized that we had just accomplished an extraordinary feat: We made it through the entire month of February, in a 3-season RV, in MA! The worst month of the year, and in this case, the worst month of the decade. We did it. We were on the other side.

And once this snowy weather passed, the other side looked promising. A warm front was about to bring us an early spring, with temperatures rising as high as 60°F the following week. Warm weather is good, but even better was that the forecast included several days of rain. Rain would help wash the snow away even more. Of course, it would also mean this:

For those who can't tell, that is our bedroom AC taped and toweled to prevent leaks until we could get on the roof. With any luck though, the very rain worsening these leaks would be the weather we needed to finally position our ladder on cleared ground.

The morning of March 4th, we woke up to a pitter-patter on our roof. It wasn't rain, though, and it wasn't sleet, but it sounded like a combination of both. All the trees were dripping pearls of ice that had been caked on their branches for weeks. We found ourselves in an ice melt forest. It was nothing short of mesmerizing. The woods to the east glistened with multicolored sparkles in the sunlight. A coat of crystals blanketed every surface. The air smelled so clean, like the scent those Glade air fresheners try to mimic but always fail to truly capture.

While we enjoyed the sensory experience, we were a little stressed. The rain was coming soon, and we hoped to take advantage of the blue skies while we had them. Enough snow had thawed for us to use our ladder, and we needed to get up on the roof to patch those leaks. If we didn't move fast enough, we risked the roof sealant not drying in time. But with all this falling ice, we needed to wait a little longer.

After a few hours, the pitter patter gradually came to a stop. Then we sprang into action. Anthony brought his supplies up to the to the roof. We used what we had: duct tape, spray sealant, and a towel for drying. A combination that's worked for some big holes in the past, but we needed to assess the damage to see if it would suffice this time.

About a 2-inch hole over the bathroom, where the water leaked through the ceiling light. And a 4-inch-long gouge right by the bedroom AC. We easily spotted the culprit of that one.

And a bunch of little cracks from branches, freezing/thawing, and overall weathering.

We had success stopping all the leaks except for the AC. The next day, March 5, the rain split the strips of duct tape, and the water started dripping through the unit again.

On March 6, we did a quick fix in the rain: crisscrossing the strips of tape and placing a bucket over the hole to deter the water until we could seal the roof again. It wasn't leakproof, but it stopped the constant dripping and turned it into a sporadic piddle that occurred every 15 minutes or so.

By March 7, we had had 3 days of temperatures in the 50s and consistent on-and-off rain. The effects were evident. The snow had melted enough to uncover the branches that had been buried in the past few storms. It felt like uncovering geological layers. A big windstorm on January 18 blew down tons of branches, but those were still buried. These branches must have been from the January 25 storm onward.

We also began dealing with the downside of the melting snow: the mud pit. Clyde is a hefty dude, and so when he drives into his parking spot, he leaves a mark. That mark turns into mud as soon as the ground thaws and the snow melts. We tried to put our wooden boards down to give us a walkway to and from the driveway, but the mud was too thick and the boards weren't stable enough. We opted to take the snowbank route instead and lent the boards to our Starlink.

After being sick all week, we finally felt well enough to take Tanner for a walk. All of us were pretty stir crazy by that point, and we weren't surprised to see that other families had the same feeling. The more snow piled up, the fewer nature trails we had accessible to us. One park about 20 minutes away became our go-to. The paths are paved and the workers actually kept up with the plowing. Only, when we arrived, we saw crowds like never before. Traffic was backed up down the road, and there was nowhere to park.

Surely, this couldn't all be outdoor recreationists! And it turns out, it wasn't. Evidently a model train show was happening this day, too. Bad news for those of us trying to recover from cabin – and regular – fever.

We tried 3 other parks that day, all paved trails, hoping the snow had melted enough. No dice. Too much shade, which caused slippery, slushy mush. We accomplished a whopping .18 miles in one small, almost-clear stretch of trail at Wompatuck. You know Wompatuck.

After admitting defeat, we stopped over at the visitor center to use the bathroom. As we crossed the parking lot, Anthony and I talked about our failed attempts at rebirth. We survived the depths of winter in our RV in MA, and this winter was emblematic. After travel burnout, job loss, the ringworm fiasco, and cottage chaos, we ended up here. And now, all we wanted was a new beginning. The weather was giving us glimpses of spring. Daylight Savings was hours away. We were finally feeling better after our physical post-blizzard beatdown. But we still couldn't even take a nature walk with our dog. We wanted rebirth, but Mother Nature was clenching her legs tight and saying "Not yet, poor souls!"

Part of us thought that making it through February would mean we would just stick around until New England camping season. We already got through the worst of it, so why not stay for the remaining weeks? But this day reminded us that we still have a long ways to go. Even nice weather won't magically allow us freedom in nature. After the blizzard, we said we'd do everything in our power to be ready to launch as soon as we could get Buggy out. This was the moment we doubled down on that decision. The 60-degree days were coming on March 9 and 10. They might melt the snow enough for us to get out. And if that happened, we needed to make sure that we had no other remaining roadblocks. The warmth wouldn't last; a cold front was already predicted for the middle of March. We needed a tentative launch date before that – a deadline to work towards just in case all our ducks lined up just right. We decided then and there: March 14. One week to clean, organize, and secure all our belongings. One week to do as many repairs as possible. One week to get Tanner medically cleared for travel. One week to figure out where the heck we were going to go. One week to mentally and emotionally prepare for another pivot, back into real nomadic life once again.

On March 8, we lost an hour, but we squeezed in as much cleaning and organizing as possible. It was daunting. The snow and mud were only part of the problem. Being sick all week made the rig feel gross and germy. The increasing temperatures caused condensation all over our interior. Then we had the organizing. Typically, there isn't much to be done because we live in our trailer year-round. Only this year, we didn't. We moved out and back in in November. The return was so hasty that we didn't take extra care of where we put everything. We knew we weren't traveling anytime soon, so we didn't need to store things where they'd be secure. We had extra stuff we bought for the cottage that didn't have a designated space in the RV. We had winter clothes for the sub-zero temperatures of NH, but we didn't need them down here (believe it or not).

We were packing for our first RV trip in 6 months. 6 months! That was the last time we set foot in a campground. It was the last time we traveled anywhere that wasn't a home-base. We decided that, in the spirit of rebirth, we needed to go through everything, get rid of what we weren't using, store whatever is for a house and not an RV, and reorganize whatever was left. We bought new storage solutions, moved items around, and tried to streamline our day-to-day functioning. At the very least, we would now be able to live better in the small space, whether we launch back out or not. We had finally given ourselves the maneuverability we hadn't had since November.

On March 9, the temps hit higher than predicted – well into the 60s. I walked outside that morning and saw something remarkable: The tree across the driveway had an exposed patch of dirt around it! This tree is a guidepost for when we pull out of our parking spot. We narrowly miss it when we need to take the wide turn onto the driveway. If snow remains piled up too high there, we won't be able to get out.

And then on March 10, just as we had hoped, the two warmest days were enough to officially mark us free to leave, as far as Mother Nature was concerned. The snow around the tree was mostly melted, and all the space we needed around the trailer was clear.

Of course, we still had the mud pit to contend with. Clyde was struggling to get out of his parking spot at times, needing a 4-wheel boost. Because the patch is narrow enough that we'd always have only 1 axle on it at a time, we should be able to get through it, strictly speaking. But Clyde's tire tracks were digging deep ruts, and so I asked Anthony to smooth things over and pack them down a bit. More rain was coming the next few days, and so anything we could do to prevent more rutting seemed smart.

As more grass was revealed, the remaining branches from the mid-January storm were uncovered. All together, the debris was shocking. It looked like we had been hit by a tornado!

We used this day to reinforce and seal the bedroom AC leak again. We had time to let it dry before the next rain, and this had become our most pressing pre-launch repair.

Only in the overnight hours of March 11-12, what was supposed to be a small rain shower turned into a downpour, even with some thunder. The AC became a faucet, dumping water all over the foot of our bed. We found ourselves awake at 3am, changing the sheets and trying to block the stream yet again, as I scrambled to get same-day delivery on EternaBond tape, in case we needed a heftier solution. We didn't know if the leak was coming from the same already-patched area, or if we had missed another crack, possibly under the AC cover. We wouldn't know until we could get back on the roof in the daylight, and preferably, in no precipitation. But we were running out of time, and March 12 was a wet one.

We focused on what we could do. We finished cleaning and organizing, and we re-secured all the furniture items that needed to be bolted and bracketed for travel. We picked up some special items for Tanner based on his blood and urine results, the final step in stamping his vet- and owner-approval for travel.

With one more day to go before launch, all that was left were repairs – hopefully finding the bedroom leak and patching it once and for all, and one other project that, if we could get it done, would be symbolic of this transition out of MA and back on the road. Would these be the final check marks to get our ducks in a row, or would we end up being sitting ducks again?

To be continued.