By Nick Nunn, Columnist
Last Tuesday, in a desperate attempt to find a good picture of the winter precipitation for the front page, Patrick and I cruised around town and look for anything remotely resembling a winter landscape.
The problem was that it was only three or so hours after the snow started falling, and buildup was spotty, at best.
However, being outdoors and seeing the falling snow reminded me of a few of the icy winters that I’ve had the (mis)fortune of experiencing over the past 26 years or so.
My first memory of snow is from Morgan County’s blizzard of 1993. I was in front of my grandma’s house in Bostwick when my slightly older cousin, Stephen, hit me in the face with a snowball. That’s also the first distinct memory I have of going red with anger.
My next snow ordeal came during a trip to Denver with my stepdad Dennis Huff several years later. One day, we drove out into a rural area with toboggans, hoping to find a good hill to slide down.
The snowfall became worse and worse as we drove along, so we decided simply to stop at the next hill that we could find and do our best with what we had. We found a little country road that led up close to the top of a large hill that had a house resting at the peak, parked near the house, and got out into the blizzard-like conditions for a little fun.
I can’t remember who was the first to go, but I do remember that, after sliding for about 15 feet, they dropped completely out of sight, much to our surprise.
My completely overzealous brother Ben went right after without considering why the first person disappeared, and – guess what – he was quickly lost from sight as well.
It turned out that we had picked a hillside that had recently been dug out for a house foundation. Luckily, the hole was open on one side, so our lost tobogganers were able to make their way back to us, and, after considerable effort, we were all able to get back to the car.
Finally I thought of some of the snow that I saw in Germany. Despite the temperature dropping below freezing and staying there for more than two weeks at one point during the German winter, only a light dusting of snow fell near the end of the unbroken cold spell.
Since the ground had remained cold and dry for so long before the snow, it didn’t look like the slush that we typically get here. Instead, when the wind blew, it looked like sand blowing across the street at the beach.
But this past week’s snow will probably leave no lasting impression on my mind. I still can’t believe that school was out so long for it. I’m sure the people in Atlanta don’t feel that way, though…