Snow is a four letter word

Snow map? Did he actually say we need to take look at the SNOW MAP? It’s April 27th and the weatherman on TV is giving out the details of the snow fall that is expecting throughout the state today and tomorrow.




Snow is a four letter word.



I’m wearing two pairs of socks today and it’s just not right. My long johns aren’t so deep in drawer that they can’t be retrieved if needed.  The sad part is that they might be needed. 



Cold is another four letter word.



Okay, okay. I’m good at letter counts. What I’m not good at is dealing with winter weather, especially when it’s happening well into spring. I was photographing tulips last night, people! As I get older, it seems that my tolerance for the cold is diminishing.

I’m not a skier, snowboarder, snow shoe enthusiast, snow mobiler, or one of those crazies who “just likes the cold”. I have no desire to venture out when the temperature is lower than 40 degrees. I don’t like the “brisk” winter air or the “crisp” fall days. As far as I’m concerned, autumn’s foliage is a sign of the impending doom of winter. The holidays get me through until January, but after that, bring on the spring. I’m ready for crocuses, daffodils, green grass and birds chirping. A white Christmas is all fine and dandy but enough is enough. Snow should be gone by January 1st. People comment on how it’s “so beautiful”. A bucolic snow covered meadow with the requisite red barn New England postcard scene? Ugh. The glistening, crystal clear icicles decorating a winter berry covered tree limb. Daggers of death, just waiting to leap off and impale you from behind, leaving you crumpled and frozen on the path, not to be found until the late spring thaw. Winter photographs do nothing except chill me. Being a photographer, I have a habit of envisioning myself in the shoes of the person holding the camera. That’s why I so love the photos I took of a deserted beach in Mexico. Not because they are visually stunning, photo contest winning scenes, but because MY TOES WERE IN THE SAND when the photo was taken. I was HOT when it happened. Winter scenes might thrill others, but if I have to see them, I’d rather it be in a magazine, instead of being right outside the door.



One of the only things that redeems winter weather is a good snow day – you know, schools closed, work cancelled, an excuse to stay in my pj’s and read or play games with my husband and daughter. Another is winter cooking: stews, chili, casseroles, pot roast, macaroni and cheese, lasagna, fresh baked rolls, apple crisp. I could go on and on about the food, but then it leads me to the offset: the sedentary lifestyle I lead in the winter. The couch and the warm crocheted blanket, a hot cup of something, the inability to budge from there, except to partake in the aforementioned culinary endeavors creates a recipe for the pudgy shape I seem to develop each winter. Snow days and winter cooking. That’s it. Winter pleasures stop there.



Deep breath. The grass is really green. Trees and flowers are budding and blooming. Spring truly has a grasp. This is just a little reminder of where we are and that we are not in control. Life in Maine can be pretty darn nice. The summers here are awesome. Near perfect for the short time they exist. There is a joke about the weather in Maine. It goes something like how there’s nine months of winter and three months of damn poor sledding (or sleddin’ if you’re going to say it right). Then there’s the classic “if you don’t like the weather in Maine (or New Hampshire or Vermont or just about anywhere) wait a minute, it’ll change.” Well, I don’t think it’s that volatile, but many a stunning summer day has been ruined by rain. And the summers are stunning. Really. Low humidity, maybe five days hot enough to run the air conditioner. Heck, we don’t even put one in the window any more. A few days that make you think “wow, it’s hot.” Not a complaint of mine, actually, more like a cause to turn my direction to that of the beach or lake.

Summer is close enough for me to envision it. May is just next week and it’s my favorite month. I love the long days, light until well after supper. I love the crazy colorful flowers that decorate even the most humble of homes. The bird’s songs are so insistent this time of year. Everything so urgently arriving. The threatened appearance of a little snow today is cause for appreciation, I suppose. Would I feel the same intensity about the flowers and green grass if they were in my life year round? Would I really find myself lingering to take it in before I head into the office? I dream of a year without snow, a year of traveling to stay out of the cold, but would I really want to live without winter for the rest of my life? I hate to say it, but I doubt it.