A while back, Em at Merry’s Cloister talked about how Northerners miss the magic of snow and can be a little unfair for laughing at Southerners’ tendencies to empty the grocery stores of milk and toilet paper any time snow threatens. Yes, I’ll admit, we didn’t get excited or worried in Wisconsin over an inch or less of snow; it happened so often, it just wasn’t worth it.
Plus, snow in the South is more like a vacation flirtation; there’s absolutely no long-term committment involved, just an emotional flash-in-the-pan. About the time the newness wears off, it’s gone (generally 24 hours or less around here).
Snow in the North is a lot closer to marriage for life. It will be there tomorrow. And the week after. And the month after. The initial fun will wear off, and a number of the endearing quirks you loved at first will become annoying oddities. You’d better be really committed, or you’ll be fleeing for south Florida before March.
Strangely enough, we actually had snow here in Virginia. Real snow. And it’s still here after three days, and likely to be here for a few more. They’re saying we could get more snow by the weekend. Our usual technique of just letting the driveway melt clean may not cut it. (There are advantages to living in Virginia and not Wisconsin. I don’t even own a snow shovel, and this is the first time in more than a decade when that’s been an issue. My parents were waffling between amusement and disappointment that any child of theirs wouldn’t own a snow shovel.)
(The forts, like the snowman, were made of packed snow off the driveway, using the big, lime green Tub Trug garden bucket as a mold. Wow, I wish I’d had one of these things when I was a kid.)
And my first trip out? To get milk, then straight back home.
Because I’m still trying to pretend I’m a Northerner, and I don’t stock up on milk for snowstorms.