Here, where I live we only got about 5 inches from Nemo and it didn't completely cover the tops of the hellebores. These European native plants stay green all winter and they open their flowers in late winter or early spring. Hellebores are often marketed as plants that deer don't eat, but apparently the whitetails in this valley don't know that. Before the snow melted there were deer tracks all through them and their tops were completely eaten down.
In addition to dumping huge amounts of snow in New England, Nemo was responsible for downing some red-throated loons, ducklike birds with dagger-like beaks that breed across the oceans and also in the Arctic region of North America. These deep-diving fish eaters are only occasionally seen in the state when they temporarily put down on bodies of water during their October/ November migration to the coast in the fall and back north in late March and April.
But as is true of most birds that migrate south in the winter, some of them only go as far as is needed to survive. With loons that means finding an open body of water with plentiful fish. Then, when the weather gets bad and/or causes the lake to freeze over, the loon or loons on it move farther south. And when the weather gets really bad, it can force the loons, who normally only migrate singly and not in flocks, down to dry land.
Loons need water that they can paddle over with their feet to get the thrust they need to take off. But that's difficult or impossible for them to do in the snow or on a paved surface, which is why they're sometimes stranded in very odd locations. Most other birds forced down by a storm would just wait it out and then fly away again.
In its winter plumage a red-throated loon doesn't have a red throat, which is why it's easily mistaken for a common or an Arctic loon. But while common loons are seen occasionally around here, in spite of their name they're still not common, and Arctic loons are extremely rare.
Loons have funny, sometimes demonic sounding night calls that can make people scared if they don't know what they're hearing. The first time I heard one calling was more than 30 years ago while I was hanging clothes outside on the line in early spring. I was just beginning to seriously study birds back then and had no idea that you could actually hear a loon call this far south. And when I told David what I heard he looked at me, smiled, and said that the only loon around here was the one he was talking to.