By the time anyone reads this column, I’ll be digging out from nor’easter No. 2 and making reservations for anyplace warm and sunny to escape from this latest groundhog and Mother Nature curse. This March has definitely come in like a lion and we’ve been feeling its roar for nine days.

Many of the poor victims of the last nor’easter a couple of weeks ago were just getting their electricity back on when this storm struck early Wednesday morning, occasionally coming as rain, but mostly as snow, dumping more than six inches in our area and even more up toward Waterbury, where our daughter and grandson Lucas live.

And those winds were of such high velocity that they almost whistled while precipitation kept changing from rain to snow and back and temperatures were initially higher and then lower. By the time the storm finally died out on Thursday morning, there were downed trees, some uprooting during the storm and landing in streets or on cars for a change.

The first storm, late last week, ended in some places as snow, but the winds lashed out at us with a vengeance at speeds up to 60 or 70mph. Pelting rain felt like sheets in so many different directions.

Ironically, for that storm, our school remained on a normal schedule while Mother Nature danced her jig outside. But as bad as that storm was, I felt relieved that we didn’t endure another snow day that would give me no money. We only had to endure the winds and raw temperatures for another couple of days as things got back to normal.

This week’s storm, on the other hand, triggered school closing in Bridgeport by 5:30 p.m. the day before the snow began.

The temperatures had been in the 40s anyway, I thought, so it would take a lot to bring on a blizzard. I went to bed Tuesday night, expecting nothing. Wrong! The dogs and I woke up to a lot of snow on Wednesday, just as the weather experts promised. The snow was wet and heavy. It was no good for “senior shoveling.”

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by our New England weather. We’ve lived here nearly 35 years and have been through hurricanes, tropical depressions, blizzards of varying intensities and summers with searing, nearly unbearable heat and humidity. And we’ve survived.

The only change we’ve noticed in the past few years is that we’ve had some pretty snowy and icy storms, especially in February. Last February, for instance, when Mother Nature walloped us with an ice storm that paralyzed us for at least two days. When my plow guy texted that his truck broke down, I remember going down a list of plow guys in the area.

The guy who finally rescued us was a big guy who literally stood on the island of ice in my driveway and told me, “I got this!”

And he did. It took him several tries, but his plow finally cut through and he cleared a driveway where I never thought I’d see concrete until summer.

Four winters ago, when we were still trying to sell our house, we endured nearly weekly snowstorms and seemingly endless visits from real estate brokers who were all too happy to parade their clients across snow bridges in our driveway on Brooklawn Avenue and through the house. And we actually had a few interested buyers, despite the weather.

But as bad as our Connecticut winters have been over the years, many of our Chicago winters were far worse. My wife and I still talk about the snow storm of ’67, which dumped 27 inches on Chicago and stayed. That snow didn’t melt until nearly April.

Nevertheless, enough is enough. Pack up your snow, Mother Nature, and take Punxatawney Phil with you. We’re so ready to welcome spring in our new home and can’t wait to move there just after Easter. The only advantage of this week’s snow day was how much packing we did.

Steven Gaynes is a Fairfield writer, and his “In the Suburbs” appears each Friday. He can be reached at