Winter, You Now Suck

There.  I've said it.  Despite all my poetic expressions of love for winter, for white snow, for clear night skies, and refreshingly cold air, I am begging for a divorce from winter.

Our 10-day forecast here in Iowa predicts continued cold through March 6, with daytime temperatures never getting above 20, and most nights going below zero.  One of those coming nights is expected to be -23!  That's the real temperature, none of that candyass windchill stuff.

I never thought I'd beg for mud season.

 It has been a hard winter, and now it's setting in to be a long and bitterly cold one.

Iowa got real cold sometime before Thanksgiving.  I know this because I wrote a poem about a frozen dead pig on the side of the road.  Around the same time, we received our first measurable snowfall and we haven't seen the ground since, or the dead pig.   Most areas have received more than 50 inches of snow so far.  It is piled in rugged white mountains along country roads and in parking lots in town.

I don't mind the snow so much, but this bone-rattling cold is taking a toll on everyone.  In town, the ground is frozen solid more than two feet down. Nearly 200 homes and businesses have frozen sewer lines and water pipes.  The diner is slower than a typical February.  The check-out girls at the local Fareway talk about how quiet the store is these days.  The cold is all we can talk about; it's our devil.

We try to convince ourselves that spring is 'just around the corner', something we say at the beginning of every February, because we know the end of February starts the Great Thaw, and the ground becomes a saturated sponge of mud and slush, unleashing our first dreams of spring blossoms.

We know spring is near, but no one is buying it.

The season of waiting

Winter has taken aim and humbled those of us living in the Midwest and the Northeast.

It was 15 below the other night, with a windchill of -40.  Tonight, temperatures will begin a steady decline and Monday's high temperature is expected to be -15.  The high.  MINUS FIFTEEN DEGREES!  In some areas of northern Iowa (that would be here in the Big Woods) the windchill factor may reach -60 degrees.  We are being warned that frostbite can occur within 5-10 minutes in these temperatures.

During the winter, I drive a 1996 Blazer with 4-wheel drive.  It's a workhorse, but it's cold-blooded.  Even parked in the garage, I keep a battery charger plugged into it.  It is no guarantee of it starting up.  I'm not so certain it will start when the temperature turns arctic on Monday.

The poet, Linda Pastan, calls this 'the season of waiting'.

We've entered the very depths of winter.  Bone-chilling, perilous cold, the threat of snow and ice and treacherous roads.  Weather fit for neither man nor beast.  My two dogs, Jack and Joey, waste little time doing their business these days.

We wait out these severe weather alerts, crawl under the covers at night, fall into a sleep that will be quickly forgotten when we venture out to our vehicles, and pray the engine turns over and we let it idle for 10 minutes to warm up.

I have a big pot of chili simmering in the slow-cooker today, thick and hearty with black beans, kidney beans, lentils, onion and green pepper, tomatoes, and soy burger.  Nothing will taste as good tonight when the winds pick up and the arctic comes to Iowa.  It is worth the wait.

There is little to do in this waiting season.  I read books and write poems.  I putter around the house, organize my closets, sift through dresser drawers, bake loaves of bread and try new recipes.

We settle into our 'long winter's sleep', pray we remain safe in our warm homes.  We dare not think of spring yet because we know February can be the cruelest month of the season.

So we wait it out, imagine winter is a survival test and we must steel ourselves against all attacks.  We will be under siege for the next few days, hunkered down and paying respect to nature's ferocity.

While we wait, we practice patience.