April Fool’s Day and Easter have come and gone, and on Monday we found ourselves surrounded by fresh snow, lightly falling from the sky, simply perfect for making a snowman.
Winter has passed, or at least it was supposed to have been over, but when that snow fell it did not really feel as if spring was around the corner even though it arrived two weeks ago, according to the calendar.
This light snowfall was predicted but one cannot always anticipate accurate weather forecasts, and we are always at weather’s beck and call. Picture a storm moving up the East Coast. Will it track to western Massachusetts and will we feel its effects? Only time will tell.
All of the hoopla about weather in New England is enough to make me gag. Before we had The Weather Channel with all of those guys in their blue L.L. Bean jackets, the only way we got the weather report was from local television and radio stations. Life was simple.
It was going to snow? Make certain you had a shovel, some boots and warm clothing, and a plow guy, if you were lucky, and did not have to do the entire cleanup yourself. Now when a snowstorm is reported on TV it’s as if we all just moved here from Florida or the Bahamas and had never seen or shoveled snow before in our lives.
I’m no spring chicken. I have seen my share of deep snow and other bad storms. When my oldest son mentioned one time how deep the snow was, I could tell he was impressed and excited by the tone and inflection in his voice. I thought to myself, “Well, I’ve seen it all through the years, and the blizzard of 1978 was quite impressive and a lot bigger than this one.” He wasn’t born until after 1978.
Living in New England for many years and seeing how well most towns in western Massachusetts prepare for, manage, and remove snow makes me think that a blizzard in New England is not a hurricane or major catastrophe: it’s just a bigger pile of snow.
Chances are quite good that wherever you live, you know exactly who the head of the local Highway Department is because that person is in charge of snow removal in your town. Many of us commute to work and notice the difference in the quality of snow removal on the roads from one town to the next as we drive past the town line. Moving snow around is in our blood, and really, doesn’t the rest of the country know that when babies are born in New England they are given a jug of maple syrup and a snow shovel as gifts?
Watching the local news I always question why newscasters stand at the side of the road in Springfield on Route 91 when it’s snowing or in a torrential downpour with strong gusts of wind. Is that really a safe place to be when roads are snowy or icy, or in warmer weather in tons of water from rain?
What of the drivers barreling down the highway, driving too fast for unsafe conditions so they could easily spin out of control and whack into some clueless person reporting at the side of the road? Is that wise?
This kind of idiocy reminds me of all The Weather Channel reporters who stand next to the surf during a hurricane. They stand in the water or in the sand near the point where the waves are rolling in with their microphones telling us to stay away from the beaches and there they are, yards away from roaring, unpredictable surf.
I roll my eyes and mutter a few words under my breath. Someday one of those weather forecasters will be standing along the coast reporting during a hurricane and be washed in or pulled out to sea by strong surf. Then four or five people will be forced to risk their lives trying to get the fool out.
I have wondered many times if some of those Weather Channel reporters suffer from chronic depression because they never seem to see a sunny day. Are they on one road trip after another chasing storms all of the time? Do they get a chance to see the sun shine on their day off? Where do those guys vacation? Hopefully someplace sunny and warm. The Weather Channel guys are to bad weather as Richard Engel is to unsafe, war-torn countries.
Ever wonder about stockpiling food, water, and other items when a big snowstorm is predicted, or a hurricane or pending ice storm? Do people really need to buy that much milk? Do people think we will never eat food or drink milk again?
I learned a long time ago that if I happen to be shopping on a “storm stockpiling day” that I need to grab a cart when I’m outside in the lot or I’ll enter the store and have to turn around and go outside to search for one.
Ever see the lines in the package store for beer, wine, and other types of alcohol, not to mention lottery tickets in the event that one survives the storm and can cash in a winning ticket?
Please don’t get me started about the longer lines at the gas station as people fill up cars and gas cans for snowblowers and generators. When we lost power for about six days after the Halloween snowstorm in 2011, one of the few gas stations open was in Holyoke, as my neighbor discovered while driving around trying to find one. My son and his wife were somewhere near another one of those long-line gas stations in Springfield and there was a Dunkin’ Donuts next to the station that had an even longer line. My youngest son looked at his wife and said, “Look. It’s true. The world runs on Dunkin’.”
How about the first snowstorm of the season when local school superintendents act as if we have never traveled or commuted in snow before, and they seem to overreact to the predicted snowfall that does not always pan out. One early storm a few months ago, a number of schools canceled the night before the snow had even begun, and then what fell was easily plowed by road crews early in the morning. Those schools could have easily had a one- or two-hour delay.
Don’t jump the gun, so they say. It can be brutal making up a snow day in late June when it’s hot and humid. Ever try to teach a class of hot, sweaty fifth-graders when it’s 93 degrees on the second floor of a school? Not pleasant. That’s the type of day you wish you could take all of them on a field trip to some local lake or pool to swim.
We all know the line about weather in New England: “If you don’t like it, wait a minute.” Maybe that’s what I should do — wait a minute or two, take a deep breath, scan the radar on my phone or computer and judge accordingly. Let the hoopla slowly pass by.
One thing is certain, though. You’ll never see me wearing one of those blue jackets standing on a beach during gale-force winds, or beside Route 91 when it’s snowing. I’ll be inside where it’s safe and warm. You can count on it.
Lynn K. Cooper, of Westhampton, is a writer and retired teacher.