The dirty snow came much, much earlier this year.
After two years of near-record snowfall in New Hampshire, we experienced a Winter this year that was below normal and certainly less welcoming. Though temperatures stayed comfortably below freezing throughout most of January and February, which made it possible for ski resorts to make snow, the natural snowfall effectively in ended around here in early January. I know snow fell everywhere else on the East Coast this Winter, but the sad fact is that NYC and Washington DC probably got as much snow as we did this year. Add to the mix a devastating late January thaw and rain over several days, and it's no surprise that the New Hampshire woods, even in mid-February, were thin in terms of snow.
Now it's the second week of March, temperatures are consistently in the 40s, the snow is almost completely gone in the woods, and even the hills for alpine are getting thin. Sure there are exceptions -- travel north to the White Mountains, or west or east to other peaks in Vermont and Maine, and you will fund incredibly abundant snow -- but the signs point to an inescapable conclusion: Winter is on the wane in northern New Hampshire, and Spring is just around the corner.
I know this conclusion to be true for another reason. Tonight is probably the first Friday in 12 weeks when I've not had to tune three (or more) pairs of skis. Tomorrow morning is also certainly the first Saturday since early December when the kids can sleep past 8am. Most weekend mornings in the Winter, we (like all good ski-racing families) find ourselves getting up sooner than we do during the week. It's a routine which defines our Winter. Early morning alarms, nights in the basement tuning skis, and a constant turnover of gear, food, and clothing in preparation for the next practice or race.
You might think, upon reading the above, that I'm complaining. Far from it. I think Winter is our prime season. It's when we are tested and learn the most, not only from the rigor of the sport and the demands upon time which it places, but also from the sheer joy that comes with doing all of this work in order to do one simple thing: go outside in the dead of Winter.
Over the course of ten winters in New Hampshire, I've come to realize that it's entirely possible to spend as much time outdoors in the cold months as the warm months. It all comes down to having the right clothing, attitude, and schedule. Sure, we're very tired now. Like the dirty snow, we are kinda faltering after more than three months of early mornings and late afternoon practices and races. But would we really truly trade these months for something more relaxed and somnolent. Hardly.
We've learnt instead to make this season our own. We can describe the snow in at least 12 different ways, depending on the temperature, wind, and ground conditions. We own multiple jackets, pants, gloves, and skis -- all of which address a different Winter condition. We have skis and boards and sleds and bright lights for the dark nights. We own three shovels, a roof rake, and have a constant supply of de-icer and sand at-the-ready.
So, in some ways, as welcome as the slow-down is, I also find myself in this time of year desperately missing the dead of Winter. I want just a few more weeks of deadening cold. I want snow drifts and snowfall. I want to hear and feel the howl of Winter as I ride the chairlift. I want to cross-country ski across a cold field and head into woods that are filled with snow. I want to see frozen ponds and white land everywhere.
It's bittersweet when the dirty snow arrives. Regardless of how good or imperfect Winter has been, it's still been Winter. Over the course of this glorious season in any year, I've ridden my favorite trails. I've seen my favorite landscapes. The world has been transformed by cold and snow and ice, and I've felt the pleasure which comes from coolth and warm to my hands, face, and feet.
That's gone now. If we're lucky, we might escape and head north to Burke, Bretton Woods, Cannon, or Jay for a special Spring weekend. But we know, even as we pull the car out of the garage and head to these far-away spots, the grass in the backyard has re-emerged. The pitch-back has been pulled out of storage. Instead of walking around snow drifts on Lyme Common, my dog, Bear, and I spend evenings throwing and retrieving baseballs in the backyard. Spring cannot be denied.
