The first snowfall isn’t magical; it’s a mess and always has been. Clean roads turn grimy overnight, coated with cinder, ash and salt that seemingly sticks around until April. And if that is not enough a hodgepodge of stray screws and nails are mixed in as cruel bonus hazards that bike riders like me find scattered along the road’s berm courtesy of Pennsylvania’s Department of Transportation. With every storm, the debris multiplies, turning winter into a season of dodging tire punctures as much as falling snowflakes.
In northeastern Pennsylvania, a good number of folks hope that first snowfall will hold off until January, but such hope is mostly vain. This year, the snow arrived in force shortly past 6 am on Tuesday, December 2, much too soon as it is still autumn by the calendar.
Autumn or not, December has always carried winter with it no matter what the solstice may dictate. The air sharpens, the ground hardens, and the season announces itself before the calendar allows. Advent may signal a spiritual beginning, but in the world outside, the first snowfall announces the arrival of Old Man Winter, and the earlier he comes, the longer he lingers.
Such seasonal early arrivals remind us that nature does not bend to our wishes.
Winter comes when it chooses, and we have no choice but to adjust. That first snowfall is not just a weather event; it is a reminder that expectation and reality often part ways and that the rhythm of the seasons is its own truth.
Snow changes things. It muffles sound and imposes a stillness as it softens hard angles into graceful curves and drives some inside, while others take to the road.
The roads quickly turned white, masking a slippery slide as drivers and pedestrians alike have yet to gear down their commute still moving like they are in the middle of summer heading to the beach, while quietly cursing the whiteness.
Nothing says “global warming” quite like shoveling heavy, wet snow in the wee hours of a subfreezing morning three weeks before the winter solstice officially begins. The snow on this fateful morning was so profuse it was as if planet Earth hit “refresh” on the Ice Age.
Yet, the climate change debate waddles on like a penguin in a blizzard, slow, awkward, and somehow still wearing a tuxedo and resembling Burgess Meredith.
For over a generation, we have been lectured about how we are to expect a fiery climatic Armageddon with rising seas, melting glaciers, and sunbathing polar bears.
So, what does Mother Nature do?
She responds by dumping snow like she is trying to bury the evidence.
Thanks to the sub-freezing temperatures, it is almost as if the planet is trolling us as the world outside still resembles a snow globe on steroids. If this is global warming, you could only imagine what global cooling will look like.
Wasn’t that supposed to happen back in the early ‘70s?
The only thing falling faster than the snow that day was the irony. On one hand, scientists warn us that the planet is heating up faster than a microwave burrito. On the other, my bike is currently encased in an ice sculpture worthy of an outdoor January Iceland art exhibit.
Weather often struts around like a prima donna being unpredictable while throwing tantrums and demanding attention. Meanwhile, climate trends quietly update the record book, which in the annals of human existence is so new it still needs a tutorial.
The only thing falling harder than the recent snow is our collective snowballing illiteracy of science.
Such ignorance allows myths to multiply and the truth to hibernate far longer than any early snowstorm.
