Tales from Exit 22 by Al Batt

 

We act like a herd of zebras sensing the presence of lions.

A January thaw makes us uneasy.

We feel an urge to remove the seals from the gaps around doors, but we know better. Winter is a boomerang season. Winter packs it’s bags, but has to come back because it forgot something. It leaves again, but returns once more because it forgot something else. We understand that. We’re used to hearing things like the furnace guy saying, “Here’s your problem. You’ve got winter.”

I watched a car motoring down a rural road. A dog ran across a farm field in an exuberant attempt to catch the car. I assumed the dog’s master was likely either the driver of the car or the car itself. The car moved and so did the dog with tail wagging furiously. When the car paused at a stop sign, the canine stopped, too. The dog crouched, hoping to be unseen.

We’re like that dog. We don’t want winter to see us enjoying the thaw. That’s why ours is a subdued celebration. Winter generally tends to discourage jubilation. There are people who think winter is best experienced through a window and that Old Man Winter should pick on someone his own size.

As I sit by a roaring, imaginary fire, I realize that winter is that rare time when a man is willing to admit he was wrong. You might hear one say, “I didn’t think the weather could get any worse, but I was wrong.”

We look for signs that winter’s hold has been broken. We become crack meteorologists. No simple task. Meteorology is a tricky business. Reading frozen tea leaves doesn’t do the trick.

Short-term forecasting is easier. I feed the birds in the yard and notice a feeding frenzy at the feeders before a storm arrives. Birds need food each day to fuel their metabolic engines. They can endure bitter cold if they have sufficient food.

I listen for birdsongs dedicated to lengthening daylight. Daylight is Old Man Winter’s kryptonite. It’s his ultimate weakness. Some of those indicator sounds are the black-capped chickadee’s whistled “fee-bee,” the cardinal’s “what-cheer, cheer, cheer,” the blue jay’s pumphandle call and the drumming of woodpeckers. I look for the marcescent leaves of the red oak to fall to the ground. Marcescent means the leaves have withered, but remained attached to the plant. I look for the bills of starlings to turn yellow. These are all signs that time is passing as much as they are anything else.

I told visitors from Florida that I believed in a meteorological winter that includes the months of December, January and February. I want winter to share its time with spring and fall. One asked if that meant the weather on March 1 would be spring-like. I answered with a diabolical laugh. All we can do is hope winter didn’t make a New Year’s resolution to become more active.

The Mad Hatter in “Alice in Wonderland” said, “You used to be much more… muchier. You’ve lost your muchness.” That’s how we think of winters. We remember past winters as being much more severe than recent editions. Perhaps it’s a case of fake weather. Whether our memories are right or wrong, we’ve learned things.

We know that when a strong south wind blows snowbirds/winter Texans back from the Lower Rio Grande Valley, warm weather has arrived.

Winter is finished when the snowblower begins to work properly.

When the Batt family takes down their Christmas tree, winter is over.

The UPS driver wearing shorts and your snowman likeness of Arnold Schwarzenegger melting are signs that winter is faltering.

When cousin Earl starts wearing his Speedo outside, that’s a sign of winter’s weakening. It’s a welcome, but not a pretty sight.

I consulted experts. A man, one of the Fools on Stools at the lunch counter at the Eat Around It Cafe, said after I’d asked him if he wanted winter to end, “I just want a cheeseburger.”

He might have entered a Zen state, but I’m not sure Minnesota is a Zen state.

Winter is misunderstood. It leaves when it has nothing left to prove and its lease has expired.

There will still be winter days when I’ve scraped so much ice off my windshield that my car will become stuck in the shavings.

It’d be nice if winter tipped us off when it’s about to take a powder. I’d welcome a day when I could gather along the coast of Minnesota with other appreciative residents and wave goodbye to winter.

Al Batt’s column appears every Wednesday and Saturday.