Wisdom of Winter
First published in the print column, Strictly Haresay
In the midst of all the complications created by our winter weather of late here in the Sandhills: ranchers struggling to keep livestock safe and fed, healthcare workers braving the elements to ensure others receive the care they need; emergency repsonders putting in the long and arduous hours to try to keep the world moving and functioning—at least a little bit, it’s been a Christmas season to remember, for sure.
Meanwhile, the rest of the world has rolled on mostly oblivious to our trials out here. I don’t know about you, but any national news channel or weather station I’ve tuned into has had very little to say about our 10-foot snowdrifts, multiple road closings that basically shut down the entire panhandle of the state for nearly a week, and blustery conditions that old timers are likening to the blizzard of ’49. You’re more likely to catch wind of the “impending winter storm watch for the eastern seaboard,” or a “major weather event rocking the California coast.” I guess they don’t call this “flyover country” for nothing. Sometimes, like now, that can be a bit irksome, but overall, I’d have to say it’s probably more of a blessing in disguise, this living under the radar.
It only takes about five minutes (less for some people, like me) of listening to all the dead horse whipping that constitutes what now passes for news to realize the utter absence of value to being included in that, for any reason.
For the most part, Midwesterners (especially of the Sandhill variety) are used to the designation of obscurity, and we wear it well because, frankly, no one gets our culture anyway. Like how we turn driving with an iced-over windshield into a winter sport. Or how we tend to rate a person’s industriousness by their snow shoveling skills, and their intelligence by their ability to get a vehicle unstuck from a snowdrift or patch of ice. And how astute we are at perceiving a person’s character simply upon observation of their level of neighborliness.
When temperatures drop to double digit sub-zero numbers and the snowfall outside the window is horizontal, it can be tempting to dream of other places less challenging to abide. But deep down, you know you’d miss it if you left. The good, the bad and the awful—you’d miss it all. You’d miss the spectacle of that one neighbor in his saggy sweatpants and tennis shoes, trying to dig out his high-centered car with a garden rake. You’d miss the hot cider offered by the elderly neighbor as a thank you for clearing her walk. And you’d miss hearing the stories all your friends and relatives have to tell about their own trials and triumphs through the hardship. Because at the end of it all, whether or not we’re voicing the actual truth of it, we all take away a little more understanding of life, and one another, by having withstood the storm.
