Look Up!

It’s spring here in St. Petersburg.  The last four or five winters have been unusually warm, but this one has been cold and snowy.  The snow has built up and up.  Spring means the snow turns to dirty slush, sometimes you think you’re okay, but fall through crusty snow into unseen slush below.  In a couple of days it freezes and you slide on frozen slush, then in a week or so it turns to slush again. 

Our roofs are made of tin, and every once and awhile we hear a loud scraping noises for a few seconds, then a crash when large sheets of snow and ice fall off the roofs.  Coming from a warm climate all these things are new to me. 

One day my Russian teacher, Ludmilla, warned me not to walk close to the overhangs of the roofs this time of year.  “Snow falling off the roof can kill you.  Someone just died yesterday.”  she said.  She told me “Alpinists” are men who chop snow and ice off roof edges.  There is always someone below warning people to stay from the work area.  When Natasha and I took Luda to the dentist we saw a sad news story about a local young woman killed by a chunk of ice falling on her.    In the television interview, the “woman below” said, “I warned her, but she didn’t hear me.”  It was distressing to see a beautiful girl lying dead in the snow and ice on the sidewalk.  Ludmilla continued, “She was 56.”   “I saw her on the news.”  I countered, “She was young.  She had on tight jeans and a short coat.”  “Oooooooh,” Ludmilla shrugged carelessly, “it happens every day.  Yesterday’s woman was 56.” 

I took Ludmilla’s words to heart.  Now I keep looking up and wondering how far away from the edge of the roof is far enough.  At this time of year, you must also be careful not to stand too close to the curb because passing cars create waterfalls from the deep lakes of filthy slushy melted snow in the streets.  I asked Natasha, “What do you do if you hear ice sliding?”    “You run into the street as fast as you can!” she said.  “But the street is full of black slush.”   I shuddered at the thought.  “Better to be soaking wet and dirty than dead!” was her wise reply.

Compacted Ice in My Courtyard