Also, the snow was tightly compacted with debris that the plows unavoidably picked up while clearing the roads over and over again — covering mileage equivalent to almost 12 trips around the Equator. That collection of trash helped insulate the dense, thick pile from the sun’s rays. And there has been little rain, which could have accelerated the melting. All this has created the oddity that remains: an ice-encased, cinder-encrusted mound of snow laced with urban flotsam and jetsam, from candy wrappers to fire hydrants.
It looks like a landfill, but it has become a landmark. It is now a frequent backdrop for photos, and a kind of mascot for workers in this semi-industrial part of town who have lived with it for almost six months. It has even attracted the attention of the mayor, who has started a contest on Twitter asking people to guess when it will finally melt and leave its frozen coil.
“There were times when we had it packed really high, and when it got a little dirty, new snow would come, and it was beautiful,” said Michael Dennehy, the commissioner of public works. “It looked like the White Mountains.”
Those days, obviously, are long gone. Gulls now patrol overhead as the slow-motion melt gradually reveals fresh pickings. And as the pile has diminished, so has the tenor of the assessments.
“As it’s been melting, it’s gotten pretty gross,” said Tim Pedersen, 28, an online ad salesman, who passes the snow farm on his way to work. “Now it’s disgusting.”
But what the mound has lost in stature, it has made up for in sheer endurance. Few predicted it would last this long.