After serving winters in Northern IA and Boston I bare the scares of my battle with snow. I’ve battled blizzards, nor’easters, wind chills of 30 below, hours of digging my truck out of the snow, as well as pants and shoes ruined by salt and pink and blue deicing chemicals. In retaliation to winter I’d tell myself that as soon as I could I’d move away to some place warm and sunny.
See I wasn’t prepared to battle snow. Growing up in VA, just the mere threat of snow became a major news event. TV programs are interrupted, schools canceled or delayed and grocery stores completely sell out of milk, toilet paper, and bread all this before the first flake has even fallen.
Like most DC area natives who get caught in the snow’s crossfire I rarely knew what hit me. My mustang would fishtail all over the road like an animated Warner Bros. chase scene. At least I wasn’t alone; it’s common in DC to see four wheeled drive sports utility vehicles pulled over letting the inch of snow pass before trying to drive again. Bustling areas like K St, and Dupont Circle deserted as people barricade themselves in doors terrified of becoming a winter casualty.
Yet, this January it happened. I was sitting in a coffee shop in Louisville, KY after a string of beautiful 60 degree days when something didn’t feel right. If my name was Luke or OB1 I’d have said there was a disturbance in the force. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the sunny days, but its was like one day everyone decided to call me Bob instead of Brent it just didn’t feel right. I started to miss my arch nemesis the snow.
My worst fear was confirmed when suddenly Louisville got three inches of snow and I felt like it was payday on the Friday before a long weekend. Now that I’m back in Boston I’m at peace with the wintry gift and choosing instead to see it as another reminder of the universal presence instead of a burden.
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