The first Big Snow
What is it about the forecast of a major snowstorm — especially the first one of the season — that brings with it a humming undercurrent of excitement for so many people? Even as we’re crowding the grocery store aisles in search of the obligatory bread, milk, and eggs (or for some of us, coffee, wine, and kitty litter), there’s an undeniable electricity in the air that keeps the heart rate just a little elevated. It’s a mix of anticipation and pleasant anxiety, with a little vulnerability thrown in.
If there’s one thing no one has any control over, it’s the weather. Despite what some creative conspiracy theorists with too much time on their hands may assert, the government doesn’t really control the weather.
What else but the weather is so familiar and ordinary, and at the same time, fascinating and conversational? Most adults who grew up in the northern U.S. have seen at least a couple of major snowfalls in their lifetime; yet the prediction of snow brings a preoccupation that has us glued to the TV and checking our phones for updates on timing and totals.
Beyond the typical comments about a rainy day, frigid temperatures, or withering heat, talk of a “big snow coming” is a giant collective flashback for everyone who attended public school in the north. Nothing makes a kid jump up and down with unbridled delight like the prospect of a snow day or two. Though after all the sledding, snowball fights, watching movies, and playing video games, most kids are so bored and itching with cabin fever, they’re craving their normal routine.
Even for those of us who struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder, and dread the long stretch of weather suck that is January through March every year, the beginning flakes of the first Big Snow of the season is cause for running to the window and gleefully announcing “It’s snowing!”
Then comes the aftermath, like an obnoxious friend who doesn’t know when to leave the party. Every winter, it’s the same. If we get more than an inch or two, I know it’ll linger for weeks, long after I’ve gotten sick of seeing those enormous mountains of snow, gray and dirty with gravel, around the perimeters of parking lots all over town. Those massive monuments to winter, that I swear don’t completely melt until early June, silently reminding me that the soft beauty of Spring is still a lifetime away.
But I’m not there yet. Right now, I’m still in the anticipation-flashback-little-kid-excitement phase and I’m choosing to enjoy it, because I know I’ll have plenty of time to curse the dirty mountains later. Stay safe out there!
