An important winter question!
I just finished walking the dog while dressed in shorts, boots, and a hoodie. About a foot of snow cascaded through the mountains over the weekend, but the weather warmed enough to start melting the aberration I thought I was completely rid of by moving back south. And while the dog loves romping through the snow, I of course do not. I let him have this joy from time to time, if anything to make sure he doesn't defecate in the apartment. He'll sniff around all the tracks like he's Scooby Doo or some other dog I can't think of that sniffs footprints and helps solve crimes, but he rarely does his deed out there. It's a bitter cold war I'll eventually win, but it sure doesn't stop cars from either slowing down to make sure they don't hit the puppy, or to just laugh at my attire while I aim a flashlight in the dog's direction.
It isn't a big secret that I pretty much hate snow. Especially monumental fucking gobs of it. Snow is fixed into my genetic makeup - I was born in January in upstate New York. There was likely a blizzard outside the hospital windows as my mother was going through labor. If there wasn't, she made damn sure later you remembered there was every morning after a snowstorm. Seven, maybe eight o'clock in the morning I was awakened by the hard thuds of a long aluminum hoe she was slamming against the roof outside, dragging the snow down to the ground. It was her subtle way of telling me I had better get my ass out there and start helping.
You could rate snowstorms back home by whether or not you could actually see the mall or department store upon entering their massive parking lots. Piles of snow dumped from all over the city took shape at the furthest ends of the lot, blocking ones view until warmer days lay ahead. Many parts of the northeast region do this, as it is more efficient than plowing snow cluttered with muck and debris into rivers and oceans. Washington D.C., for example, often uses the parking lot at the old RFK Stadium as a snow dumping ground. It might not be pretty to look at, but at least its off the damn streets.
After the storm died down a bit, I decided I had enough. Underneath the apartments (they're on stilts as we're adjacent to a river) sits a few random outdoorsy gadgets. Specifically, a wheelbarrow, a rake, and that old staple of the misery of my youth - the wretched aluminum snow shovel. We're on a side street that was never going to get plowed, so I knew what had to be done. Someone has to clear this damn snow. Our landlord sure as hell wasn't going to do it, as he was probably in Florida. I wasn't going to shovel the entire road or parking spaces in front of the building, but I needed to make a clearing for the car to at least help it out into the road. It took a while with that stupid piece of shit shovel, but I eventually made a nice opening for the car once the snow began to melt away in the coming days.
The week after the storm has been a mixture of pleasant days and chilly nights. We lucked out with clear roads and better commutes faster than many around here, especially those living on hilly roads or driveways the sun may not aid in melting as much. After a thirty-six hour ban, I was able to escape cabin fever and conquer the streets again.
First order of business behind the wheel was to get some more groceries. And by groceries, I mean vodka and beer. Once I picked up those necessities, I headed over to a very large department store that has a bit of notoriety around these parts. In order to get there, I usually cut through the backside of a shopping mall. I do this because in my head I think it is quicker than navigating through seven traffic lights down the same street. The only drawback is the slower speed limit and an unnecessary amount of speed bumps for back parking lots that sit mostly empty. I'm zipping around these bumps at a raucous twenty miles an hour, to the horror of all the old ladies coming out of Belk and JC Penney. I notice something peculiar about my surroundings that I let pass, and keep trudging on over to the aforementioned giant department store. Just as well, my surroundings there struck me as odd.There were no mountains of dirty snow. Both enormous parking lots were clear of snow themselves, but other than that there was nothing else around. And with all the news reports about snow cleanup, that brought me to the ever-important winter question -
Where does this town put its snow?
It isn't a difficult question. Maybe it has a simple answer - we dump it into the rivers. Which is fine I guess, if you don't really give a crap about what goes into those rivers. For a town steep-rooted in the world of sustainability and tree hugging, I would like to think this isn't the actual solution. It's also entirely possible they simply put it somewhere else, like parcels of land where nobody lives. Also perfectly fine, if you don't give a crap about other creatures walking the earth I guess. There have been a few bear sightings around these parts, so let's just cover their habitat with all the snow and muck that plows drag up. Yeah! Fuck bears! The waning optimist in me doesn't want to believe in this theory, either. The only other possibility I can conjure up is that we scoop up all the snow we possibly can into the likely one snow dump truck the city actually owns, drive it across state lines and dump it over there to let them worry about it. It's a pretty short drive to the border. That seems to be a pretty reasonable solution we can all get behind.
I just finished walking the dog while dressed in shorts, boots, and a hoodie. About a foot of snow cascaded through the mountains over the weekend, but the weather warmed enough to start melting the aberration I thought I was completely rid of by moving back south. And while the dog loves romping through the snow, I of course do not. I let him have this joy from time to time, if anything to make sure he doesn't defecate in the apartment. He'll sniff around all the tracks like he's Scooby Doo or some other dog I can't think of that sniffs footprints and helps solve crimes, but he rarely does his deed out there. It's a bitter cold war I'll eventually win, but it sure doesn't stop cars from either slowing down to make sure they don't hit the puppy, or to just laugh at my attire while I aim a flashlight in the dog's direction.
It isn't a big secret that I pretty much hate snow. Especially monumental fucking gobs of it. Snow is fixed into my genetic makeup - I was born in January in upstate New York. There was likely a blizzard outside the hospital windows as my mother was going through labor. If there wasn't, she made damn sure later you remembered there was every morning after a snowstorm. Seven, maybe eight o'clock in the morning I was awakened by the hard thuds of a long aluminum hoe she was slamming against the roof outside, dragging the snow down to the ground. It was her subtle way of telling me I had better get my ass out there and start helping.
You could rate snowstorms back home by whether or not you could actually see the mall or department store upon entering their massive parking lots. Piles of snow dumped from all over the city took shape at the furthest ends of the lot, blocking ones view until warmer days lay ahead. Many parts of the northeast region do this, as it is more efficient than plowing snow cluttered with muck and debris into rivers and oceans. Washington D.C., for example, often uses the parking lot at the old RFK Stadium as a snow dumping ground. It might not be pretty to look at, but at least its off the damn streets.
After the storm died down a bit, I decided I had enough. Underneath the apartments (they're on stilts as we're adjacent to a river) sits a few random outdoorsy gadgets. Specifically, a wheelbarrow, a rake, and that old staple of the misery of my youth - the wretched aluminum snow shovel. We're on a side street that was never going to get plowed, so I knew what had to be done. Someone has to clear this damn snow. Our landlord sure as hell wasn't going to do it, as he was probably in Florida. I wasn't going to shovel the entire road or parking spaces in front of the building, but I needed to make a clearing for the car to at least help it out into the road. It took a while with that stupid piece of shit shovel, but I eventually made a nice opening for the car once the snow began to melt away in the coming days.
The week after the storm has been a mixture of pleasant days and chilly nights. We lucked out with clear roads and better commutes faster than many around here, especially those living on hilly roads or driveways the sun may not aid in melting as much. After a thirty-six hour ban, I was able to escape cabin fever and conquer the streets again.
First order of business behind the wheel was to get some more groceries. And by groceries, I mean vodka and beer. Once I picked up those necessities, I headed over to a very large department store that has a bit of notoriety around these parts. In order to get there, I usually cut through the backside of a shopping mall. I do this because in my head I think it is quicker than navigating through seven traffic lights down the same street. The only drawback is the slower speed limit and an unnecessary amount of speed bumps for back parking lots that sit mostly empty. I'm zipping around these bumps at a raucous twenty miles an hour, to the horror of all the old ladies coming out of Belk and JC Penney. I notice something peculiar about my surroundings that I let pass, and keep trudging on over to the aforementioned giant department store. Just as well, my surroundings there struck me as odd.There were no mountains of dirty snow. Both enormous parking lots were clear of snow themselves, but other than that there was nothing else around. And with all the news reports about snow cleanup, that brought me to the ever-important winter question -
Where does this town put its snow?
It isn't a difficult question. Maybe it has a simple answer - we dump it into the rivers. Which is fine I guess, if you don't really give a crap about what goes into those rivers. For a town steep-rooted in the world of sustainability and tree hugging, I would like to think this isn't the actual solution. It's also entirely possible they simply put it somewhere else, like parcels of land where nobody lives. Also perfectly fine, if you don't give a crap about other creatures walking the earth I guess. There have been a few bear sightings around these parts, so let's just cover their habitat with all the snow and muck that plows drag up. Yeah! Fuck bears! The waning optimist in me doesn't want to believe in this theory, either. The only other possibility I can conjure up is that we scoop up all the snow we possibly can into the likely one snow dump truck the city actually owns, drive it across state lines and dump it over there to let them worry about it. It's a pretty short drive to the border. That seems to be a pretty reasonable solution we can all get behind.