Snow Blows

We got cocky, Cache Valley.

We kept saying stuff like, “It’s been such a mild winter,” and “We’ve been so spoiled,” and “I could handle a winter like this every year.” Then apparently completely forgetting to follow up such fate-tempting remarks with a hard knocking on a wooden surface to ward off the jinx.

My neighbors, who are determined to move to St. George this summer after living in Cache Valley for 17 years because they just can’t stand one more Cache Valley winter under an inverted cloud, were even toying with taking down the “House For Sale” sign and staying.

We’ve been going out coat-free and wearing flip flops. A local golf course has been advertising winter specials.

What were we thinking?

This is Cache Valley! The horrific winter lore of this mountain valley goes back before Jim Bridger. Old Man Winter was not going to let us off so easy. Early or late, he’s going to make us pay our dues for the high quality of life we enjoy here, most of the time.

My first taste of Cache Valley cold came my freshman year of college. Being young and stupid, I signed up for the 7:30 a.m. section of Math 105 winter quarter. All the other classes I needed had been so hard to get into because they filled up so fast, but I was amazed this particular section was so wide open.

Holy cold, Batman.

You have no idea what cold truly feels like until you find yourself trudging uphill straight into a 40-mile-an-hour Logan Canyon wind at 7 o’clock in the morning in January.

I blame my grades in that class on the fact that my brain was never defrosted enough to comprehend color differentiation let alone mathematical equations.

It got to the point that I would just sleep with long johns under my flannel pjs, get out of bed in the morning and while my sleeping layers were still bed-toasty I would pull on the long wool coat I borrowed from my sister’s “DO NOT TOUCH!!!” box while she was away on a mission south of the equator and go to class.

Needless to say, I did not meet my eternal companion in 7:30 a.m. Math 105.

I am a snow fan for the holidays and skiing. Thanksgiving through Valentine’s Day, let the flakes fly, baby. After that, it can and should continue to cover the ski slopes so I can spring ski, but snow sticking on the valley floor after Heart Day totally blows.

The only way it’s barely tolerable beyond March is if it warms up and melts right afterward.

So this is it, Mr. Winter. You’ve got 24 hours to get your filthy frigid residue off my property or you’re going down, Old Man.

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