Like I've oft moaned and opined in this space, it has been about 15 degrees below normal at best – since mid-October, culminating in a early-season snowstorm that was the worst since 1938 and gave us more snow in one day than we got all last winter.
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me outside our stoop in Brooklyn, trying to hold traction in crappy boots
People were mildly freaked out about the situation, having been lulled into complacency by three extremely tame winters, but at least it wasn't like the ice storm that hit the South; folks in my hometown of Chapel Hill have been without power for three days, and Chip said he won't have power until next Wednesday. Despite its own generators, and a maniacally-stubborn administration ("we ain't closed our doors since Sherman marched through") even UNC shut down.
I was there during the last truly treacherous ice storm in March 1989, except that time we had a 74-degree day directly after; the ice melted and detached so quickly that students were being lacerated by falling icicles. I got brained by a jagged piece of ice while walking to class (and then I got dysentery the next week, but that's another whole funny ha-ha story).
Meanwhile, the snow is going nowhere up here and I admit, it's very nice in the early going. It acts as an incredible acoustic barrier, meaning that you go outside and you can't hear anything. Cars are silent as they pass, and even the muffled laughter of children (some of whom have never seen a real blizzard) seems to be emanating from a distant speaker.
Soon enough, the snow will turn to frozen brown diesel slush, and echoes of my crappy wintry times in Iowa will echo through my head: piles of black snow plowed into the corners of parking lots. Brown ice will coalesce at each doorstep and well-worn paths covered in kitty litter will be everywhere. For now, though, the white blanket is dead beautiful, and I feel blessed that our planet can look so different so often.
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looking north from our corner on Berkeley Street (click for bigger)