|Thanks to Nina Wright for the photo|
I'm writing about the weather because, here in Southern New Hampshire, this is the first significant snowfall we've had all winter. Usually, winter begins roaring in as we're putting up our Christmas lights and doesn't stop bellowing until we're doling out Easter candy. In other words, winters are long in the northeast, with a tendency to cold and snowy.
I grew up in the Adirondacks. The winters there make the winters here look downright tropical by comparison. When you grow up with winter, you learn to take it into stride. I like to ski and I snowshoe now and again. I like a quiet day at home, when bad weather is a good excuse for excessive coffee drinking and an afternoon dive into a good book.
But like most northeasterners, I've about had it with the white stuff by the time I flip the calender to March. March snowstorms generally want to make me shake my fists at the sky and yell, "Enough already. What are you trying to do, kill us?" By March, snow is old news. The snowbanks start looking derelict. By March, snow is a four letter word spit out as a curse.
This year, though. This year has been an odd year. We had a foot of unexpected snow back in October, which caused the electricity to go out for days and left us all shaking our heads in disbelief. And then we had no snow at all. Nary more than a flake or two through the long, dark months of January and February.
Then, today, we woke to half a foot covering driveways and porches. Snowing still, it accumulated to foot by the afternoon. Hubby and I went out to shovel. And, as I was lifting a hefty shovelful of the white stuff from the porch, I found I was unexpectedly happy. I found myself wanting to shout "Yeah, snow!" and dance a little snow dance. This is winter. White stuff is supposed to happen. It feels right, even in March. So let it roar!