Weather Watch

It is 7 degrees. The frigid snow squeaks under my running shoes. Boulders of ice jam a turn in the Winooski River and the sky is a steel gray. My mind is scanning my body for cold appendages. Between claustrophobic breaths through my backlava, I take a swig from my water bottle, only to discover that ice had formed.

One week later, it is 50 degrees. The slushy snow sprays off the double jogger wheels onto my shins. The thundering Great Brook is rushing with tremendous force. I am too warm. My toddler sons, Austin and Carson, take in the passing scenery from the jogger, calling “moo” to cows standing in flooded farmer’s fields.

It is January in Vermont and outdoor recreationists are braced for the pendulum swing of unpredictable winter weather. For months, we have been talking with optimism in our voices. “The Farmer’s Almanac calls for a mild, but snowy one.” “I heard that because of global warming, we could have above-average precipitation.” “ Is it the year of El Nino or La Nina?” By January, however, reality upsets prediction. It either snows, or it rains. It is when our favorite meteorologist predicts the dreaded, “mix of sleet and freezing rain,” that we begin dreaming of the beach.

Then the resilient “Yankee spirit” kicks in. Rather than resign to joining a gym, or slowly sinking into a depression, we bundle up ourselves and our kids and go outside. Strapping into skiis, snowboards, sleds, skates and snowshoes, we seek out the sensation of perfect sliding, anyway. We can’t afford to wait for a sunny, powder day.

There is more to it than pure desperation. We are addicted to the recharge we feel when temporarily eluding phones and computers, to-do lists and meetings. We are lured by fresh air, the beauty of the setting and connections with others. We strive for the spiritual clarity that comes from hearing the whisper of wind in tall pines, seeing animal tracks in the snow and sensing a deep stillness.

Besides, February is here and I hear we’re in for some snow.