STILL CRAZY

There was a time, once upon a time, there must have been a time when one’s reaction to the weather was simply how close you sat to the fire. I remember when weather forecasts were deemed fantastic if they were right 70% of the time. Now they give multiple, targeted forecasts; north of the river, south of the river, Cass County, on the Kansas side and if they were not precisely on the mark everywhere, every time, they had failed. It used to a be public service and now it’s reality t.v. I’m not complaining, just sayin’, it is what it is.

It’s the 2nd week in January, the Midwest, if you’re going to get snow this is when it’s supposed to drop in, like rain in April. But we’ve been conditioned to view stormy weather with the same trepidation as zombies at the gate. Yesterday we knew without reservation we would get snow last night, 4 inches plus, and we did. Saturday, even when you are retired, snow on Saturday morning means you sleep in. Snow light is different than sunshine through the blinds: some of the brilliance is filtered out without any loss of lumens. 

I took my time with coffee; it was still snowing and the task in my driveway and on my front stoop would be there until I decide. Emerging from the garage I felt a deja vu kind of West Michigan nostalgia. Every tree branch in every yard was snow-loaded, hanging low; some had already lost the gravity-battle and lay dismembered on the ground. Snow flakes were big and wet, heavy, sticking to the first thing they encountered. My vehicles were nearly a foot taller than when I left them last night; I couldn’t see the roof rack on the pickup at all. Long story short: after an hour of shoveling and snow-blowing, I had cleared the patio, cars and driveway but in that time, nearly 2” more had accumulated. 

This really was a West Michigan flashback. I didn’t have anyplace to go but we old snow-mongers won’t be snowbound. (I don’t handle nasty-cold as well as once upon a time but I still handle it.) I need a vehicle at the ready and a path to wherever I might want to go. By then it was noon. I changed out of wet clothes, made a bacon/biscuit sandwich, finished the coffee pot’s last cup and watched it snow. On top of both the car and pickup, 3” more new snow and still coming down. Visibility was just a stones throw, nearly a whiteout. I couldn’t make out my neighbor’s back fence across the street. 

Allendale, Michigan; 1997 and ’98 this kind of snowfall was typical, night after night. No weather warnings, just Lake effect snow. It comes in like fog off the bay but when it has spent itself it doesn’t dissipate. It leaves 10”, 12”, 14” of new snow stacked up on fence posts, mail boxes, street signs, even makes a curtain on power lines, maybe 6”, 8” high. So today I don’t mind doing the work. The first verse of Paul Simon’s, “Still Crazy” reflects on meeting his old lover on the street; she was so happy to see him he just smiled. They talked about good times and drank some beers, still crazy after all these years. If I anthropomorphize winter weather, consider it creative license. Winter on the lake shore is whatever you make of it. When I talk to Southerners about Michigan winter they shudder and call me crazy. I accept that after all, crazy is preferable to the lazy-warm addiction-affliction they suffer from. Then they grumble and hide under the air conditioner when it turns hot and humid. 

Since I started this piece, I’ve been outside several times; took a telescoping limb trimmer and rattled snow covered limbs. Up and down the street there are limbs, big limbs broken. I looked at mine and realized if I didn’t do something to relieve the pressure my trees will break too. Once lightened, they spring back to near normal. My neighbor’s tree across the street has nearly imploded. Every limb with less than 4” diameter is on the ground. You don’t see them fall, just notice later, too little too late. All the while I’m loving this winter day. I went out with a hooded rain coat, bare handed; thought I’d be outside only a few minutes. Much later I came back in with painfully cold fingers. I’m too old to be doing that so I’m back at the computer. 

When I get all dry and comfortable again I go out, see if the snow blower will start, shovel the tight spaces and make believe I’m somewhere else. Dumping snow off the car tops will yield enough snow to require shoveling again but that’s alright. I have things to do and places to go tomorrow. By then the streets will have been plowed sufficiently and enough salt put down to kill every weed for years. My hands have stopped hurting and daylight will wane very soon. My nature is to look for the good in things; I think we are programmed to be as content as we chose to be. This cold, gray, snowy day has buoyed me up, turned my pretty good day into a great one.