"One Christmas was so much like another . . . that I can neverremember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was 12or whether it snowed for 12 days and 12 nights when I was 6."Dylan Thomas, "A Child's Christmas in Wales"Of all the holiday messages in the cards I received, the best was asimple one: "I wish you winter."
It's hard to know whether our forebears sat around griping aboutwinter the way the folks of this age do. To listen to these people,we shouldn't like anything. Heat, rain, dampness, dryness, cold,snow. Whatever weather extreme prevails at the moment, we shouldgripe about it.
This realization came to me in a particularly fresh way last yearwhen, while covering Olympic skiing in Lillehammer, I found theNorwegians to be people who profess a love of winter. They love coldand snow and ice. They walk about the city streets and camp in thewoods regardless of the conditions. Their wise (it seems to me)motto: "There's no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes."
This is a truly cheerful outlook on the harshest of seasons in aland known for harsh winters. It says that no matter what theclimate of the moment, we control our own environment, inside or out,and thus free ourselves to enjoy the world even in its most hostileof seasons.
The other view finds us entrapped by winter. Hostages. Everyforay beyond the door of the house becomes a battle with naturalforces that, under the banner of Gore Tex, Qualafill, Spandex andLycra, not to mention fleece and down, we were already supposed tohave won.
Can't travel in snow? You're behind the curve. At least 10 carscome to mind right off that utterly tame almost any winter roadcondition.
In fact, it could be argued pretty convincingly that in our agepeople move around and travel more in deep winter, in snow and iceand sleet, than humans ever did before.
Anyone remember the feeling of a leaky rubber boot? That suddenicy trickle surrounding your toes with a sense a little like panicitself? Ohmygod, the boot's gone!
But it's hard to remember that feeling because most people haven'tworn leaky rubber boots for at least 30 years. Like all seasonalclothes these days, modern boots are kind of an armor that letwearers go about in hostile climes bringing along their semitropicalhabitat with them.
Car heaters have never worked better. Fiberglass insulation nowsnuffs out every draft in the home. Sidewalks in most towns actuallyget plowed by little tractors so that shoppers do not have to walkover impacted ice, as they once did, as they still do in places likeLillehammer.
Yet, never (it seems here) was there the whining about winter thatwe hear these days, even though, by any measure, we have not reallyexperienced any real winter yet. How many times have you heard thefollowing lately:
"Yup, it sure is nice weather, but we're going to pay for it."
There's the old Puritan ethic kicking in. Any enjoyment -- suchas a mild and sunny autumn -- has got to be atoned for, like sinitself. So watch out. Winter's coming with a vengeance!
Well, skiers know the answer to that one. And so do snowmobilers,hikers, cross-country trekkers and spectators at Nordic ski races inEurope. Some folks wither away indoors awaiting winter's end andcursing every sub-zero gust and inch of accumulation.
But, again, the image remains with me of those 30,000 Norwegianfans who climbed an icy hill for nearly an hour to pack into thestands of a cross-country race course in which their Nordicbirkebeiners ("birch legs") were taking on the Russians, who in thatsport are still mighty.
In the stands the crowd was uproarious, rivaling any noise youever heard in Foxboro Stadium. Between races, in a circle ofrefreshment tents -- mostly hot chocolate and reindeerburgers --people danced on a wooden stage, and in a large, crowded tent thesound of dancing boots thumping on wood dispelled any thought ofdiscomfort caused by the minus-20-degree morning. Such folk dancingwas not merely for its own pleasure, but a vigorous preventative offrostbitten toes. It keeps the blood pumping, just as the skiingitself does out on the frozen trail.
In order to get better seats in the stadium, many of thespectators had gone into the nearby woods days before the race,pitched tents and set up housekeeping without a thought of deepwinter conditions as a threat to their comfort or safety.
Heartier folk than we? I don't know. I think probably these werethe extreme fans in the true sense of the word "fanatic." Yet Norwayis a land where people seem more in tune with the natural world,preferring wood to plastic, wool to synthetic fabric, a place wherewinter is celebrated for its own sake, not just when the OlympicGames are in town.
And when I now hear the winter whining all around me, I fracture alittle Shakespearian phrase in my mind: "The fault lies not in ourstorms but in ourselves."
At any rate, the nice Christmas card wishing me winter alsoincluded a "Think Snow" bumper sticker. Which I have put on my car.Please don't run me off the road.
Winter is a time to savor, not weather
"One Christmas was so much like another . . . that I can neverremember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was 12or whether it snowed for 12 days and 12 nights when I was 6."Dylan Thomas, "A Child's Christmas in Wales"Of all the holiday messages in the cards I received, the best was asimple one: "I wish you winter."
It's hard to know whether our forebears sat around griping aboutwinter the way the folks of this age do. To listen to these people,we shouldn't like anything. Heat, rain, dampness, dryness, cold,snow. Whatever weather extreme prevails at the moment, we shouldgripe about it.
This realization came to me in a particularly fresh way last yearwhen, while covering Olympic skiing in Lillehammer, I found theNorwegians to be people who profess a love of winter. They love coldand snow and ice. They walk about the city streets and camp in thewoods regardless of the conditions. Their wise (it seems to me)motto: "There's no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothes."
This is a truly cheerful outlook on the harshest of seasons in aland known for harsh winters. It says that no matter what theclimate of the moment, we control our own environment, inside or out,and thus free ourselves to enjoy the world even in its most hostileof seasons.
The other view finds us entrapped by winter. Hostages. Everyforay beyond the door of the house becomes a battle with naturalforces that, under the banner of Gore Tex, Qualafill, Spandex andLycra, not to mention fleece and down, we were already supposed tohave won.
Can't travel in snow? You're behind the curve. At least 10 carscome to mind right off that utterly tame almost any winter roadcondition.
In fact, it could be argued pretty convincingly that in our agepeople move around and travel more in deep winter, in snow and iceand sleet, than humans ever did before.
Anyone remember the feeling of a leaky rubber boot? That suddenicy trickle surrounding your toes with a sense a little like panicitself? Ohmygod, the boot's gone!
But it's hard to remember that feeling because most people haven'tworn leaky rubber boots for at least 30 years. Like all seasonalclothes these days, modern boots are kind of an armor that letwearers go about in hostile climes bringing along their semitropicalhabitat with them.
Car heaters have never worked better. Fiberglass insulation nowsnuffs out every draft in the home. Sidewalks in most towns actuallyget plowed by little tractors so that shoppers do not have to walkover impacted ice, as they once did, as they still do in places likeLillehammer.
Yet, never (it seems here) was there the whining about winter thatwe hear these days, even though, by any measure, we have not reallyexperienced any real winter yet. How many times have you heard thefollowing lately:
"Yup, it sure is nice weather, but we're going to pay for it."
There's the old Puritan ethic kicking in. Any enjoyment -- suchas a mild and sunny autumn -- has got to be atoned for, like sinitself. So watch out. Winter's coming with a vengeance!
Well, skiers know the answer to that one. And so do snowmobilers,hikers, cross-country trekkers and spectators at Nordic ski races inEurope. Some folks wither away indoors awaiting winter's end andcursing every sub-zero gust and inch of accumulation.
But, again, the image remains with me of those 30,000 Norwegianfans who climbed an icy hill for nearly an hour to pack into thestands of a cross-country race course in which their Nordicbirkebeiners ("birch legs") were taking on the Russians, who in thatsport are still mighty.
In the stands the crowd was uproarious, rivaling any noise youever heard in Foxboro Stadium. Between races, in a circle ofrefreshment tents -- mostly hot chocolate and reindeerburgers --people danced on a wooden stage, and in a large, crowded tent thesound of dancing boots thumping on wood dispelled any thought ofdiscomfort caused by the minus-20-degree morning. Such folk dancingwas not merely for its own pleasure, but a vigorous preventative offrostbitten toes. It keeps the blood pumping, just as the skiingitself does out on the frozen trail.
In order to get better seats in the stadium, many of thespectators had gone into the nearby woods days before the race,pitched tents and set up housekeeping without a thought of deepwinter conditions as a threat to their comfort or safety.
Heartier folk than we? I don't know. I think probably these werethe extreme fans in the true sense of the word "fanatic." Yet Norwayis a land where people seem more in tune with the natural world,preferring wood to plastic, wool to synthetic fabric, a place wherewinter is celebrated for its own sake, not just when the OlympicGames are in town.
And when I now hear the winter whining all around me, I fracture alittle Shakespearian phrase in my mind: "The fault lies not in ourstorms but in ourselves."
At any rate, the nice Christmas card wishing me winter alsoincluded a "Think Snow" bumper sticker. Which I have put on my car.Please don't run me off the road.
