It's Michigan. It could happen.
But I'm not talking about actual snow. Thank goodness.
Every June our yard and driveway are inundated with elm tree seeds. They are penny-sized disks that float down with the ferocity of a blizzard from our neighbor's tree. The wind swirls them around and they form drifts along the garage. When we're ambitious, we scoop them up and haul them away by the garbage bag full. When we're not, they blow around, inserting themselves into every nook they can find. The space between the windshield and the hood of the truck. Inside the door jambs. Crammed into the cracks into the driveway. Blanketing every flower pot and flower bed and clinging to the kids' clothes as they rolled around in them like snow.
The seeds that find even the barest favorable spot grow. Like weeds. I pull them out of the rocks in the landscaping, out of the cracks in the driveway, even out of the minuscule space between the garage and the driveway. Once I pulled an entire grocery bag full out of a 6" x 24" flower basket.
This year the kids have been pulverizing the drift of seeds with their bikes. Perhaps, there will be less tree pulling in my future.