How long to the point of snow return?

FATHER’S DAZE
Emmitt B. Feldner  for The Review

When the snow is piled up so high that there’s nowhere left for me to throw it when I’m shoveling the sidewalk or the driveway, then I’ve had too much winter.

We’ve reached that point.

When I look out in the driveway in the morning and can’t tell whether that white mound is our car buried under snow or a new ski hill, then I’ve had too much winter.

We’ve reached that point.

When I have to be a combination of Sidney Crosby and Kristi Yomaguchi just to walk up the sidewalk and front steps to our house, then I’ve had too much winter.

We’ve reached that point.

When I need a periscope to see over the snow banks at intersections to look for oncoming traffic, then I’ve had too much winter.

We’ve reached that point.

In case you haven’t gotten the point yet, I’ve had too much winter.

For me, that point actually comes when the first snowflake falls.

That’s right, this is my annual anti-winter screed.

Considering that I’ve lived my entire life well north of the temperate zones and tropical climes, you’d think I’d have this all out of my system by now – but no.

I still hate winter passionately, fervently and with every frozen fiber of my soul and being.

I hate having to put on half a closet full of warm clothing just to go get the mail from the mailbox.

I hate having to shovel snow off the front porch to get to the snow shovel to shovel snow off the sidewalk and driveway – only to find the porch snowed back in when I get done with the sidewalk and driveway.

At this point, you’re probably asking why I’m still living in these parts – that is if you haven’t just given up and moved to warmer climes yourself.

The only answer I can give is either inertia or a nod to a late ‘70s classic - “The Things We Do For Love.”

You see, my wife is one of those people who say they love every season, and the changing of the seasons, and looking forward to a new season and back to the old season and so on and so forth.

I really hate all that. I say pick one season and stick with it.

She tried to win me over to enjoying winter sports even before we were married, dragging me out one afternoon to try my hand – or more truly, my feet – at crosscountry skiing.

Unfortunately for her, the afternoon she chose to try and introduce me to the joys of crosscountry skiing was a New Year’s Day when I was visiting her family during Christmas break in college.

Given the choice between watching college football bowl games on television inside a nice, warm house and going out and strapping long planks on my feet to go sliding over snow, which one do you think I would opt for? You don’t even need two guesses to answer that question.

Even before that, another college friend took me out snowmobiling when I visited them in northern Wisconsin on another college break.

That was a Thanksgiving Day, with college and pro football games on television inside a nice warm house, and they wanted me to bounce across the snow on a motorized sled and create an artificial wind chill by going 30, 40 or 50 miles an hour in subfreezing temperatures. You can give the same answer to the same question as a few moments ago.

Yet I still continue to humor the winter lover I married by helping her out at the city ski hill and ice skating warming shack each winter – but she’s still never going to get me to try out any of those winter sports, either.

My favorite winter sport remains hibernating, and fortunately at both places there are nice warm buildings where I can stay inside and perfect my winter sport.

See you all outside in June – maybe.


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