I used to love snow.
See, being born and raised in extreme south Alabama, I never saw it. So, when my family moved to Equality in Coosa County and I actually saw it every couple of years or so, it was such a weather anomaly I loved it.
Here’s how bad it was. There was no Weather Channel or super-dooper newfangled radar back then. And, as hard as winter-weather systems are to forecast in the Deep South still today with those tools, imagine how hard it was without them. Still, I would hunker down in my weather-nerd bunker with a Rand-McNally road atlas and, using a pencil and a ruler, plot the movement of the incoming – or at least I hoped – weather system.
I ruined many an atlas causing many a wrong turn that way.
(“That’s not a road, Jack! That’s one of David’s snow lines,” I’ve often heard my mother say.)
But, as I sit here on Jan. 23, 2018, I think my snow crush has died a bone-chillingly brutal death. Fifty-seven years of snow love melted completely away in just four days!
After last week, I’m not sure if I care if it never snows again. I want to take up a love offering and send it to the citizens of Buffalo, New York, who must not only live with snow, but, worse yet, lake-effect snows that pile up more and more in durations that last for endless days at a time.
(I’d send the same love offering to Cleveland, too, but, hey, they’ve got the rock-and-roll Hall of Fame. Buffalo? The Bills, poor pitifuls. … Oh, wait! I forgot the Browns. Cleveland, you may get an offering, after all!)
Honestly, I don’t think it was just the snow that made us all so miserable last week. I think it had a lot to do with the temperatures that accompanied it. Usually when it snows around here, the temps are hovering right at the freezing point. That’s why we normally get those huge fluffy flakes that we see when we do see snow.
But this time? The teens! No fluffy flakes here. Just little tiny ones that land with a “shhhhhhhhhhhh” sound in the woods and hit your jacket with a sound like a hundred ants pelting you with itsy bitsy snowballs.
Sure it’s still picture-postcard beautiful while it covers your yard undisturbed. Then your dog, moving through the powder-white with the grace of a crippled rhino, makes his “art” in it and, well, there goes any beauty!
But the best part? Going to get in your vehicle after the snow, busting your butt at the bottom of the steps leading from your deck and concussing yourself on the bottom-most step.
What a way to start your day. And, oh, yeah, when you get in your vehicle and can finally focus, the in-dash thermometer says it’s a balmy 17 degrees outside.
So, yeah, I hope all the kids enjoyed their snowman-building, their days out of school, all of those things from childhood that make me grow wistful just thinking about them.
But this 57-year-old got enough last week. By the time it warmed up on Saturday, it was all I could do to look at an ice cube.
And it the weatherman says the “s” word again anytime soon, I’m sure I’ll yell one right back at him!