Snow seems different now.
Where I grew up, we honestly didn’t even notice the white stuff until it was at least a foot deep. Snow arrived in November; and then our yards, streets, and sidewalks were basically covered with snow, ice, and slush until March.
Have you seen the jokes on social media about regions of the U.S. and the drastically-different ways that they respond to winter weather? According to one of those memes, 12 inches of snow will cause the southern states to cancel all government services, there will be complete panic in the streets, and society as it is currently known, will cease to exist… meanwhile, if there’s 12 inches of snow in the midwest or the plains, we *might* consider delaying the start of yoga class by 10 minutes. I’m here to tell ya, there’s a great deal of truth to those jokes.
Two decades ago, I relocated to a city where it rarely snows. When I was considering moving here, weighing the pros and cons, a friend told me that we don’t get much snow. That was a HUGE selling point! Sign me up!
I wasn’t always anti-snow. After all, when my sister and I were growing up, we had all the adventures playing with winter precipitation. I can remember the times we started a snowball in the backyard, to use every bit of our materials for snowman building. Rolling the icy ball around the side of our fenced yard, we watched with glee as the snowman’s base grew bigger and bigger, picking up more and more snow as the two of us shoved it into a prime location in our front yard. Exhausting ourselves as we sculpted the white stuff into our own ultimate version of Frosty, we had so much fun that we didn’t even notice our frozen toes or bright-red noses.
When I was in elementary school, the meteorologists started referring to the wind-chill factor. Basically, this terminology means that if it’s in the balmy 30s but there’s a 30-mph wind going on, fuhgeddaboutit, it’s way too cold to leave the house. During one particular storm (the fabled, still-benchmarked Blizzard of ’78), we had wind chills of 35 below zero. At that point, you don’t even think about trying to start your car.
Also, my sister and I would often make up our own rules. Our criteria for whether or not we would go outside and play in the snow, was the magic number 25. If the temperature was 25 degrees or above, we considered the outdoors fair game. 24 F or below? Nah, a good day to stay inside. The snow would be too powdery to stick together, anyhow.