No, I'm not talking about today, about them coping after yesterday's storm. I'm talking about being down there and experiencing snow. Once.
We lived there from winter of '78 to late summer '81. My version of culture shock - more weather shock - was the first X-mas eve, watching the neighbor across the street mowing his lawn. I had never seen lawn that time of year, much less felt inclined to mow it. Shovel, maybe. But mow? Impossible.
We brought down winter jackets, even mittens and scarves. Boots and snow pants? Who needed those? Then one day we woke up to white. And everything shut down.
Now coming from Minnesota, at first that seemed extreme. But after a minute of thought, not so much. We lived in a town mostly of imported northerners. Our block hailed mainly from Boston, after a Delta expansion. Our family moved after Paul got recruited for a system programmer slot at NCR. So we were all used to snow.
We were also used to plows, and shovels, and salt. Those weren't available. We were also used to other drivers knowing how to navigate in ice and snow. Those weren't available either, aside from us. So we were just as happy to stay home where possible, away from the inexperienced drivers who were highly likely to involve us in their accidents.
During the two days before it melted, the kids had a ball. Nobody had sleds, but some of us were old enough to recall back to the days of using cardboard boxes for sleds, and where even they weren't available, slick-bottomed shoes worked just fine. Our street was on a hill, traffic was nearly nil, and relatively warm temperatures gave the neighborhood kids plenty of opportunity to stay out and enjoy the snow. Snow men and snow balls were made, and pictures were taken so someday they could be produced as proof that yes indeed it had snowed way back when.