The White Stuff

When I was a kid growing up in Ewing, we had real winters. Winters when we got snow. Actual heavy, white, good-for-snowman/snowball-making snow. From December through March there was a blanket of snow on the ground. Cars and trucks had chains on their tires. Sleds, toboggans, and ice skates stood at the ready on porches all over Ewing. Mittens, scarves, parkas, and boots were always drying throughout the house, leaning up against the radiators. Even when my boys were growing up, we could count on snow days, days where all the kids gathered at the hill behind the Municipal Building and sledded for hours. These days, the best we can expect is a watery, weak spatter of snow/sleet/rain/ that makes a mess for a short time and then disappears.

I know about global warming. I know about Al Gore’s movie that talks about the fate of our planet. I understand that our climate is changing. But I miss the snow of my childhood. I get excited when a meteorologist says that there is snow in our forecast. I watch the weather map to see where it is coming from and how much we will get. I go to bed eagerly anticipating a pristine white world when I roll out of bed in the morning. And then I look out the window the next morning and see….rain. Gray, bleak, depressing rain. No winter wonderland.

According to meteorologists, Ewing is on the 95 Corridor. The 95 Corridor must be hemmed in by a huge, hulking, massive wall which blocks us from ever getting anything more than a sugar-coating of snow on the grass and nothing on the roadways. What a rip-off. When did this wall get built? The meteorologists always say things like, “Depending on the track of the storm, the 95 Corridor may either get nothing, all rain, or several inches of snow.” That kind of narrows it down, doesn’t it?

A couple nights ago, they were predicting a few inches of snow for us, to arrive around dinnertime. Points south and the Jersey Shore were supposed to get all rain, and we were going to finally get some of the white stuff. I got excited. In keeping with the forecast, the sky got grayer and grayer as the day went on, and the wind dropped off.

“Here it comes,” I thought gleefully. “Snow! Finally!”

Dinnertime came and went. The 95 Corridor remained dry as a bone. The southern Jersey Shore, however, got pounded with beautiful, fluffy snow. Atlantic City’s boardwalk looked like a winter paradise, Virginia had blizzard conditions, and Delaware had about 5 inches of what was supposed to be OUR snow.

The meteorologists were wrong again. My question to them is, “What really influences the storm track?” I know all about El Nino, the Jet Stream, high and low pressure systems, air masses, fronts, and wind direction. The meteorologists say things like, “If the cold air mass from Canada continues on its current path, given the positioning of the jet stream, and the warm air from the Gulf glides up the coast, stopping off in Atlanta for breakfast, and if the moon is in the second house and Jupiter aligns with Mars, then and only then will the 95 Corridor get three and a half seconds of sleet” (partial lyrics from ‘Aquarius’ by the Fifth Dimension.)

I feel badly for today’s schoolkids. They will never know the pure joy that comes from learning that their school is closed for the day due to snow. They may never know what sledding is like, unless they go to the Poconos or Antarctica. They will most likely never ice-skate on an outside pond and enjoy hearing that fabulously loud cracking sound that you hear when you skate too close to the edge. They will never have their hair freeze while they build a snow fort. They won’t ever get their faces shoved into a snow bank by their brothers, or had snow smashed down the neck of their coats. They may never get to experience the exhilarating feeling of toes that are so cold they turn white, and then the excruciating pain when said toes begin to turn pink again.

Hmmmm.

On second thought, maybe the recent Ewing winters aren’t so bad.