I know snow. I have stared into the heart of a blizzard. I have survived the great white silence. Once, I witnessed the legendary flight of the abominable snowmen, a tale I promise to share on a future podcast. When I was a child, we once had a winter so harsh, so unforgiving that we got five whole days of snow in a row.
D. K. Wall:Alright. Fine. I grew up in a small Southern textile town. We were not exactly the winter weather capital of the world, but we saw snow on at least a few days, most years, and yes, once five legendary days in a row.
D. K. Wall:When snow fell, we did the sensible thing. We closed the schools so kids could play in it. We cheerfully ignored the grouchy people who grumbled that schools never closed for them back in the day. Maybe that's why they were so grouchy. Or maybe, as I've learned over the years, they were guilty of snow mythology.
D. K. Wall:What is snow mythology? Pull up your social media feed after the first flakes fall from the sky, and you'll see it in action. People plunge a ruler into the snow, take a photograph, and triumphantly show how much they got. See how much more than the weather service reported?
D. K. Wall:Well, yes. Their rulers show more, but that's because most of those pictures are taken in a yard with grass. Snow sits on top of grass. It doesn't compact neatly. They're proudly measuring six inches from the ground to the top of the snow, but forgetting that an inch or two of that is just empty air beneath the blades of grass.
D. K. Wall:Or worse, they've hunted down the deepest drift, a tiny mountain blown up against their house to maximize the measurement.
D. K. Wall:Folks, there are government regulations for this. I am not kidding. Official documents outline the precise protocol for measuring snowfall. They show how you can build your own SMB.
D. K. Wall:No. That's not some newfangled sandwich. For those of you not versed in meteorological acronyms, an SMB is a snow measurement board. Of course, building one of those would rob you of the joy of saying, look, Myrtle, take a photo. We got four feet of snow by the azalea bush.
D. K. Wall:But that's not all the snow mythology you find online. Keep scrolling for the condescending post from people who know snow. They chuckle at our school closings. They howl with laughter at our pre storm runs on bread and milk. They scoff at our winter driving skills.
D. K. Wall:Pardon the intrusion of pesky statistics. But if fewer people are on the road and the number of accidents goes up, doesn't that Venn diagram point directly to the folks who overestimate their driving skills?
D. K. Wall:As I grew older and traveled the world for work, my experiences exposed much of the snow mythology in certain regions. Don't get me wrong. I've been to places where people genuinely just keep going. Meetings in Milwaukee were never late. Chicago's traffic got stickier than normal, but the city never stopped. Bangor, Maine kept humming along.
D. K. Wall:I once landed at the Fort Wayne, Indiana Airport during a squall. The man behind the rental car counter apologized for running a little behind because of the weather. No worries, though, he said with a smile. We've already cleared your windshields, warmed up the car, and it's sitting right outside the exit, engine running. You have to love the Midwest.
D. K. Wall:You see, I discovered that the people who actually get things done in the snow don't brag about it. They don't put others down. They just keep moving. The people with all the bluster and bravado, they were often from places that didn't quite measure up to their own legends.
D. K. Wall:My first such experience was in New York City, Manhattan. The toughest people on the planet. Just ask them. I was working on a project on East 40th Street with a majestic view down 5th Avenue. Normally, a busy crowded hub of pure energy.
D. K. Wall:Except one sunny winter morning, I walked from my hotel to the office and noticed the streets were as quiet as they ever get in the daytime. Being a morning person, I wasn't surprised to be the first one on my floor. I was, however, surprised to discover that by 9AM, only four other people had joined me on the entire floor. What's going on? I asked.
D. K. Wall:To be fair to New Yorkers, wild things happen in the city. I had once been late to a meeting because my taxi got stuck behind elephants. Yes. That's right. They were walking to Madison Square Garden because the circus was in town.
D. K. Wall:And that's not even the wildest animal encounter I had in New York. A camel once spat at me. Must have been a native.
D. K. Wall:With such experiences, I was braced for any explanation for my missing coworkers, Anything that is except the reality. Oh, a colleague said, everyone's taking a home office day. That explained the what, but left out a key piece of the puzzle.
D. K. Wall:So I asked, why? The snowstorm was the reply. I looked out the window at the sun beaming down from a crystal clear blue sky on a 40 degree day. What snowstorm? It's supposed to start this afternoon. The trains will be a mess.
D. K. Wall:That's right. A legion of hardened New Yorkers stayed home because it was supposed to snow later. Heck, that's how we handle snowstorms in the South. Well, that and inexplicably buy bread and milk by the truckload.
D. K. Wall:But what about the hardened brethren of Philadelphia? Surely, they wouldn't collapse under a few flakes. Well, Philadelphians might throw snowballs at Santa Claus, but based on my firsthand knowledge, they don't drive in it.
D. K. Wall:Once again, my work had me camped out in a hotel within walking distance of the office. By midmorning, exactly two other people had shown up for work on the floor. One was from Chicago. The other was from Florida. Go figure. Not a single local.
D. K. Wall:A little before noon, a building wide message went out. The cafeteria was closing early. No point staying open since only about 100 people were in the entire skyscraper.
D. K. Wall:The three of us stood at a window on the nineteenth floor looking down Market Street towards City Hall. Mesmerized by the sheer lack of traffic on a normally busy thoroughfare, we wondered why no one drove in.
D. K. Wall:The answer came clanging up to us. What appeared to be a garbage truck with a snow plow bolted to the front came to an abrupt stop. The blade had just hit a manhole cover. The racket echoed through the canyon of silent buildings.
D. K. Wall:I know. I know. I'll get hate mail from Philadelphians for that little tale. In fact, having spent so much time in Philly, I can predict what they'll say. Unfortunately, I won't repeat it. I try to keep these stories family friendly.
D. K. Wall:Let's just say I worked with a guy who, and I say this with professional admiration, was legendary for his ability to use a certain four letter word as a noun, verb, adjective, and adverb all in the same sentence.
D. K. Wall:So, yes, I doubt much of the snow mythology I've heard over the years. Shouldn't be surprised considering some of the biggest tall tales came from my own father. Like all great dads, he was larger than life to me. And he was a master storyteller, especially when it came to the winters of his youth.
D. K. Wall:Unlike my generation, whose schools closed at the first flake, his never did. He had to trudge to school on foot, uphill, both ways through blowing snow, blizzard conditions, and arctic cold. Bet you didn't know winters in Nashville, Tennessee were so brutal.
D. K. Wall:I had grown to doubt the veracity of some of his claims, but the final myth shattering moment came when he took me to his old neighborhood. We stood in front of his childhood home. He pointed to landmarks from his stories, such as his school.
D. K. Wall:Yes. You could see the school from his house down a perfectly flat road. I've lived in houses where the mailbox was further away.
D. K. Wall:So forgive me if I stay off social media when winter weather hits. I don't need to hear the snow mythology.
D. K. Wall:Instead, I will add a few logs to the fire and warm my hands over the flickering flames. The blistering winds will pile snowdrifts against the door. If supplies run low, I'll hitch up the dog sled team and head to town, traversing frozen rivers and building campfires with flint and steel to keep the ravenous wolves at bay because that's how we handle winter here in the mountains of North Carolina.
D. K. Wall:At least that's the story I'll tell the young whippersnappers around here.