Now, I don’t know about you, but I, for one, am done with winter. Especially this one. To begin with, winter is overrated. After the December holidays, New Years Day (forget its Eve; sometimes I do), and a few college Bowl games, there’s really not much to warrant all the trouble—the cold, the snow, the ice, the wind, the rain, the endless string of gray days. Even getting dressed is a pain in the boots, gloves, layers, scarfs, hats, and coats that make me look like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man on steroids. My flip-flops are bored out of their skulls; my shorts and golf shirts feel like federal workers who have been fired. Sigh.
It’s not just the weather, although that is certainly the crux of the matter. It’s the backyard and the garden that look so forlorn; it’s the front porch that’s crying out for a gathering; it’s the golf course waiting to mock me; it’s my friend Chrissy whom I haven’t seen since the geese flew in from Canada. (Speaking of Canada, let me just say it’s a great nation and Canadians are wonderful people. I’m proud to be their neighbor. Same goes for the Gulf of Mexico.)
Anyway, I’m done with winter. Overdone, like the steak I left too long on the grill. Like a few writers I know who eschew simplicity and opine with words that require their readers to Google their meaning. (See what i did there?) Overdone like a metaphor hanging like low fruit on the bough waiting to be plucked. (Oops; I did it again.)
As a child, I was taught not to carp about the weather. The sun will come out tomorrow. Soon enough, I’ll be complaining that it’s too damn hot, or that we need rain, or that I’m sick and tired of tomato pie. There’s some truth to that, so let’s think about what’s good about winter.
I’m waiting…
Someone’s hand is up. “What about skiing? Skiing is fun, isn’t it?”
No. Skiing is expensive; it’s lift lines, broken bones, or, in my post-Montana case, a cold that has hung on like a leech for the past eight weeks. (Hmmm…maybe that’s why I’m so grumpy.)
I see another raised hand: “What about the beauty of a new snowfall? The revenant silence, the morning sparkle, making snow angels, or the gift of a day off from school or work.”
OK, maybe that was a little bit fun. Once upon a time, I could sleep in, or go sled-riding, or throw snowballs at cars, except for the time some huge man slammed on his breaks and chased me all over the neighborhood. He didn’t catch me, but I’m still breathing hard. And as for making snow angels, I got my face snow-washed more times than I made snow angels. I grew up in a tough neighborhood!
No; try again. “What about delaying gratification? Doesn’t a long winter make a verdant spring greener, more promising, all-the-more spectacular?”
OK; that may be true, but we’ve delayed long enough now. Let’s get on with the next act!
We have some friends who have escaped to Jamaica for a week. My wife and I could have gone, but for a variety of reasons, it wasn’t in our cards. I need a new deal.
The forecast for the week ahead doesn’t look promising. Inches or feet? Maybe ol’ Phil up in Punxsutawney is on to something. I wouldn’t mind going back to bed for another few weeks.
I’m sorry; I shouldn’t be so down on winter. I guess there are a few benefits: the crackle and warmth of the fireplace; another good book, beef stew. Hmmm…maybe that’s the antidote: beef stew!
I’ll be right back.
Jamie Kirkpatrick is a writer and photographer who lives in Chestertown. His work has appeared in the Washington Post, the Baltimore Sun, the Philadelphia Inquirer, the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, the Washington College Alumni Magazine, and American Cowboy Magazine. His most recent novel, “The Tales of Bismuth; Dispatches from Palestine, 1945-1948” explores the origins of the Arab-Israeli conflict. It is available on Amazon and in local bookstores.
