Winter in the Kentucky portion of the Ohio Valley lasts 12 to 15 weeks. It is rarely severe. We get little snow, and what does come tends to stay around two days then disappear under a pile of rain or the ridiculously rare patch of sun. So for those of you in the far reaches of Upper Michigan, Alaska, Montana, Colorado, go shovel your driveway. You will not be able to relate to this, and I don't have the energy to indulge your scoffing at my whining.
For those who are left, here is my opinion of winter in Kentucky. I don't think it would vastly change no matter where I lived, but my current location just ices the cupcake of my discontent.
If you're going to snow, damn it, SNOW! We're pretty much going to shut down whether we have 3 inches of snow or 13, so give me the 13 and let me do something with it. But no, we get glaze. We get ice, covered with snow, covered with ice. We get dangerous driveways and frozen overpasses. We're as likely to break a hip on the sidewalk as a leg on the ski hill. We get broken tree limbs. Then it rains. and rains. and rains. The aforementioned "shut down" concept is relevant because 3 inches of snow here effectively paralyzes the city. We don't often get big snowfalls, and when we do there is the potential for a reasonable amount of fun. I don't mind shoveling (this is a good thing, because I have reared progeny who only shovel other people's walks, preferably for money but they settle for service hours). The kids can spend hours sledding, making forts, playing with friends. Unfortunately, the adults are not amused. The mere threat of the white stuff sends folks to the grocery 2 days in advance to stock up for snowmageddon. The people who *might* know how to drive here know enough to stay home once the blanket of doom hits, because the idiots who have NEVER possessed the skills to drive in the snow find it vitally necessary to make it to the store to buy bread, milk and beer. Those of us who must go to work come hell or high water take our lives in our hands sharing the road with Bubba and Maw on a desperate run for Camel menthols.
This year has been unseasonably mild. I should not even complain. There has been rain. Rain worthy of monsoon status. Rain to inspire ark construction. Whole gaggles of geese have taken up residence in yards and fields previously known for their sandlot games. But we've seen multiple days of 50 and 60 degrees. In January. In February. And despite what that miserable Pennsylvania rodent says, 6 more weeks of winter, especially of the winter we've had so far, is far from a sentence. It is more of a gift. So I can't even rationalize my complaint, other than to say this: I don't want an occasional spring teaser, only to have it washed out of my sight by another bout of gray and rain. If I can't have winter--REAL WINTER--just skip it and move right on to the real, extended spring where my daffodils can bloom, my tress bud out, and my mood can be dragged out from under the pile of wet firewood in my yard.
I'm done. Bring on the next season.
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