|Posted on December 9, 2017 at 11:45 PM|
Winters on the prairies used to be much different when I was a child. They were crisp and cold, with lots of snow and blizzards. Blizzards! I literally can't remember the last time I experienced a real honest-to-goodness blizzard in the past couple of decades if not longer. I miss them. Having the wind howl and drive the snow against the windows while we stayed indoors and drank hot chocolate (sometimes by candle-light) because even if the power went out, we had a wood-stove. The drifts would cake themselves - sometimes 14 feet high - hard against fences and walls of houses so you had to dig your way through them to go anywhere the next day. One year, my Dad had to carve a tunnel from the back door to the alley while my Mom threw hot water on the sides and top to make the passageway safe to walk through. The town cleared alleys and streets, but not private property. We kids loved that tunnel!
There were always snow-men and they lasted the whole winter. Children were so bundled for school that we never felt the chill. The skating/hockey/curling rink was redolent with the scent of bad coffee, hot dogs, hamburgers and Wintergreen that kept one's extremities warmed and protected from the cold.
So far - since my last post - temperatures here have been 10 degrees over the average/norm. We had a good snowfall that is now melting off the roads and the edges of the roofs. Because it's too warm, viruses haven't frozen and people are sick. Even those who obediently got a flu shot are sick, because the current flu (a particularly virulent one) isn't one of the four contained in the shot.
Our house is just recovering from the grand-daddy of all colds. It's been almost three weeks (we're usually good after a week and a half) and the cough continues to hang on. I'm not complaining, simply informing!
They say the freezing temperatures will return - maybe next week-end. I can hardly wait!
My vain hope is that we could return to the winters of my childhood. Or even the winters of my children's childhoods. My grandchildren will never know the spectacular art that frost paints on the windows, or the ethereal beauty of hoar-frost on leaf-bare trees, or plodding through snow-banks half their height after a good winter storm. The reality is that climate change is a real thing. The sooner we accept that fact, the sooner we can all try harder to reduce our carbon footprint. Perhaps then, Mother Earth will allow us a real winter again.
Peace. Love. Harmony.