Waiting on a Blizzard

It’s nine degrees this morning.  Snow is falling in tiny, delicate flakes, so the entire landscape is viewed through a fine linen curtain.  It is round one of a predicted one-two punch.  This afternoon we’re to see the heavy stuff, up to two inches an hour, with gusty winds from the north.  Whiteouts and deep drifts are promised. A blizzard warning has been issued for the first time in years.

For folks outside Indiana, those downwind of the Great Lakes, those of the northern prairies, the northeast, the high mountains, such news might be met with a casual raised eyebrow.  But here in the heartland it is serious business, and everyone is consumed with hopeful anticipation, fear, or dread.

It’s a big storm, a real beauty, taking in all of Texas and streaming northeast clear to Vermont, lighting up weather maps with warnings over its entirety.  Meteorologists are orgasmic.  Climatologists see another extreme event brought on by a warming planet.  

Along the river this morning the geese are huddled in groups on the edge ice, bills tucked under wings, snow gathering on their backs, waiting.  There is feverish activity at the bird feeders.  It seems every breathing thing is on high alert, preparing, knowing.  In the coming days many wild species will be walking a thin line between finding shelter and securing food.  In the UP of Michigan, whitetail deer seek relative comfort from deep snow and cold winds in cedar lowlands, where they will sometimes starve with food being just a few yards away.  Warmth of any kind, it seems, trumps hunger when energy reserves are exhausted.

The news people say it’s an unprecedented storm, blasting records across its path.  Snow covers beaches in south Texas and is piling up on palm trees, covering shrubs in full flower.  “Unprecedented” is used a lot to describe weather these days as we see a planet shifting to a new era.  The jet stream and the polar vortex are behaving outside their norms.  Perhaps the gods of snow, Uller (Norse), or NEGAFOO (Inuit), are having their say.  It took only a portion of the global population, those of us supporting massive industry and waste, to pull off the inconceivable and alter a climate that has been millions of  years in the making, but we did it, and the real consequences of our actions are coming to light.

We skied today into a stiff north wind, our eyes narrowed by snow, our groomed trail covered with fresh powder.  The thermometer rested at 11°, and in the first mile we felt the sting of cold through our clothes. But then everything changed and we were warm, blissfully warm, and our skis floated effortlessly.

Such delightful experiences don’t happen in hurricanes, tornadoes, wildfires, or floods.  These events, while impressively powerful, leave a path of destruction, lack aesthetic appeal, and are not fun to play in.  But snow, with its lofty whiteness, its muffling quiet, its ability to bring squeals of delight from kids of all ages, stands apart.  A blizzard is just a hurried effort to transform grey landscapes to sparkling white, to put smiles on young faces.

Some of us might get snowed in, our roadways impassible.  Some will lose power, homes will grow cold, pipes will freeze.  There will be inconveniences.  But on a list of extreme weather events, none will be more gorgeous.