Does Anyone Other Than a Skier Honestly Enjoy Winter Snow, Sleet, and Ice?

The Question

Recently a seemingly six-word innocuous question was posed by a friend: “Which do you hate the most?” It related to which month of winter people most dread. January, the shorter February, or yet another one?

My reply was that I abhorred them all, having lived in a places with endless winters.

Some individuals may think they ‘understand’ winter. I’ll concede they may from their own frame of reference. But the infinite bleakness of winter isn’t a mere couple of gloomy months in countless less-than-charming USA locales.

Exit from Endless Winters

Immediately upon completion of nineteen years of elementary and high school, college, and professional graduate school, at age 23 (looking back, my exaggerated academic haste may subconsciously have been to vamoose ASAP to commence the cryogenic unthawing), I escaped to an utterly opposite climate–one with endless summers — the Arizona desert.

Why?

Because in the frigid plains–not only there, but the Northeast, mid-country like Chicago, and mountainous regions similarly enjoy miserable weather; then there’s Alaska, where I once spent ten years in twelve months, winter might commence in October and drag into May.

If, as kids, we managed to trick or treat on Halloween sans snow, it was a gift.

One of the most treacherous 100-mile trips I ever recall (long after I’d smugly vanished to the Southwest) was on a deeply rutted, glass-icy highway to the airport with a crazy cousin behind the wheel of his behemoth four-wheel drive truck the day after celebrating Mother’s Day with my aged Mother. (His vehicle sustained wheel axle damage; a nice guy, he never asked for contribution to the repair bill).

That Hallmark Holiday is the second Sunday of May! And yes, the spring equinox is March 31.

You’re the Grand Prize winner if you surmised for all subsequent Mother’s Days, gifts were flowers, phone calls, and mailed presents, not in-person visits from her youngest daughter.

“Winter” exists in Arizona, the state bordering California, which lies on the Pacific Ocean. But the heaviest winter coat required, unless in the northern mountains, is a leather jacket. By comparison to many states and numerous countries, Arizona winters are temperate.

Midwestern Winters

Growing up, I frequently claimed delight with my family and upbringing — indeed, my parents were THE best — but that I’d been born in the wrong place.

Despite few childhood memories of any consequence, I recall being bone-chilling cold…for as many as seven months annually. Even where, unlike many parts of the world, fortunately, we had central heating throughout our homes, the chill coursed through to one’s core.

Suffice it to say, I detested winter.

I was the only person in my graduating class who headed outside the region for job interviews. There was never any doubt that I was getting out of Dodge, come hell or high water.

Winter “blizzards” are snow storms. White outs. Power outages. Stranded vehicles. Highways of sleek ice. Cars plowing into ditches, stranded until snow plows materialized. Occasionally, people freezing to death.

The winter supply kit in everyone’s car trunk included: blankets, tins of Sterno gel, matches, and extra clothing. This — just in case — you became stranded in a snowstorm.

You couldn’t remain inside a car for long periods with an engine running for fear of carbon monoxide poisoning. So, the choices were: run the engine with a window cracked open, hoping not to run out of gasoline, and then freeze to death. Or run it for a time, shut it off, hunker down, and wait it out.

Only once was I ever stranded, thanks to a moronic boyfriend having driven home for Xmas with me from Arizona and him deciding we ought to brave bad weather rather than listen to me.

My number clearly wasn’t up yet because our stalled vehicle at midnight in the middle of nowhere on an isolated country road (no other fools were driving) ultimately started, and we limped onward.

Or as a wee child on my oldest sister’s lap remembering her counsel, “Please don’t pee on me,” as her husband, with a diaper on his head, the sentry for the caravan of cars through blinding snow attempting to reach the church for sister number two’s planned wedding.

It was held the next day after we all spent the night at the home of an aunt and uncle.

You may have seen a few stock winter-setting movies. I lived them for twenty-three years. And millions still have the pleasure of US winters today.

A Day in the Winter Life on Campus…No, Make That Three Long, Brutal Winters

My embedded, severe latent PTSD stems from three winters crawling to classes through ice and snow in oft temperatures (that included a delicious add-on ‘wind chill factor’) as low as -30°F or colder.

That’s 62 degrees below freezing.

For everyone else except Americans and those residing in a whopping five other spots on the planet (all islands, by the way, for you trivia buffs) using the Imperial system, the temperature at -40°F and -40°C are equivalent.

“Wind chill” is the calculated sensation on human skin from a combination of cold temperatures and blowing winds.

Daily Attire

My charming get-up tromping to and from class, a 20- to 30-minute schlep, consisted of the following.

Long underwear bottoms — cotton or silk worn in the coldest weather or for downhill skiing. Blue jeans, woolen, or corduroy pants — the heaviest available; thick-wale cords were the warmest. Long-sleeved underwear top. Cotton flannel or wool shirt. Goose down vest. Mid-calf or full-length belted wool coat. Two pairs of socks — one thin underneath thicker woolen ones. Leather boots.

But there’s more....

Wool hat. Scarf wrapped around face with eyes peeping through. Another throat scarf tucked inside shirt and coat. Woolen mittens or sometimes two pairs of gloves. Sunglasses or ski goggles (they didn’t fog over).

I have no photographs, but suffice it to say, the fashion statement rivaled the Pillsbury doughboy.

Why walk to class, you might ask? Didn’t I own a vehicle?

Two reasons:

1. Unlike today, there were no automatic engine-starting gizmos. You ventured, barely awake, out into the freezing morn, warmed up the car for 20 to 30 minutes, and then scraped all the windows of snow and ice.

2. Whether or not it started again after classes, followed by the requisite 10 hours of library study, was a crapshoot. It was better not to risk it. Even if it might start, the drill was repeated: wait for the car to heat and scrape the windows. By then, I could be home.

So walk it was.

My best friend jokingly claimed, “It wasn’t the end of the world, but you could see it from there.”

Those years were the coup de grâce. After my last final, even skipping graduation ceremonies, everything I owned was piled in my car. I zoomed off on the two-day drive to forever sunny Arizona for an awaiting job. And to thaw out.

I’ve lived predominantly in hot or tropical climates ever since.

My statement then was and still is:

There is only one reason to be excited about snow and winter — downhill skiing — which I did adore.

Your time is valuable. I’m honored you chose to spend some of it here. Thanks,

Victoria, happily enjoying “winter” in the tropics, hasn’t owned a down vest in four decades 😎🙏

© Victoria Kjos. All Rights Reserved. 2024.