Everyone within eyesight of a television, within earshot of a radio, or who has an electronic handheld device knows the forecast, and they’re all saying snow. The timeline and the amounts vary, but it’s surely coming and personal opinions are mixed.
The coffee pot has just finished its final spitting and gurgling noises of steam and I pour a cup. It’s 4 a.m. I step outside with joyful hopes to see what Mother Nature may have delivered during the night.
Yes, I’m one of those. I’m a fan. It’s a clean slate, a fresh new start to a fresh new day. It crunches and compacts under my feet and is only a teaser perhaps to what is lays ahead.
The town is calm and quiet. A thin blanket has already been deposited across the yard and surrounding landscape. Any sound or noise is minimal, muffled or non-existent. There is a peaceful feeling about it all. Streetlights glow as tiny crystalline flakes flutter about.
I’m always bragging to family and friends that live elsewhere around the country, talking about my life and my little city; the people and the merchants and the easy pace of things. It isn’t always a utopia, but more times than not it is extremely close.
My only complaints about the winter wonderland are when it’s delivered to us sideways, driven by a northerly wind. I will yammer on about how Missouri snow is vertical, falling straight down, piling up and steadily accumulating.
It rarely swirls around in a vortex, leaving tall drifts in some spots and barren spots in others. My wife takes offense. She is fiercely proud of her Nebraska and any comment to the contrary will spark a clearly defined rebuttal.
I’m reminded that it’s called the Great Plains – emphasis on Great, and the amount of food it produces, the geological significance of its topography and the ocean of water that is below us in the aquifer. “Yeah, that’s all good and well and I agree with you wholeheartedly sweetheart, but can’t it just snow up and down, softly?”
The exchange of thought between is not new and has kind of become a running joke. Odds are that at any minute, she’ll pour her own of cup of coffee and take the dog outside for its morning business.
“Oh my gosh, Peanut, look!” she’ll say excitedly. “The snow is coming down,” emphasis on down. “How long will it last? We should count our blessings. This is fabulous.” She is so cute when she gets sarcastic.
There is no school today for us or for schools encompassing a very large area. Regardless of which forecaster you may have a particular liking for, the consensus is that this weather event will have a negative wide-ranging impact. I realize that putting a positive spin on what lay in store goes against the urge to "sensationalize" the dire hardships we'll soon bear, but the benefits should also get an equal say.
Our fields can use the moisture, as well as the ponds and creeks and dormant flora and fauna around our homes. And as previously mentioned, any extra drop or drip that can make it into the aquifer is nectar for our nourishment as well as for the crops we grow and the livestock we raise. It isn’t all doom and gloom.
I step outside my office to look which lights are on in the house; this'll give me an idea of where she is in her morning routine. She still has to go to work and I am happy to drive her. The accidental “donut” in the church parking lot was unintentional.
The emergency “beep beep” signal from snow removal equipment echoes from the east, the city crew is already taking care of the town’s needs. Neighbors will soon be helping neighbors and strangers shovel, skid loaders will crisscross to and fro, children will play.
Winds may blow and then be gone; the Great Plains and its people will endure, no matter the direction of the white stuff. It could be cold, but it’s also very cool.
