A Winter Day in North Georgia
Atlanta, GA
January 16, 2022
We don’t get much “winter weather” in north Georgia. But when we do, it’s usually beautiful.
Unlike northern snow, ours is brief, and charming…like a lovely marquise waving from a passing palanquin on the Champs-Élysées.
It doesn’t linger like a corner hooker, or loiter like a drug dealer outside a North Philly row house. It usually covers the ground, brings the city to a brief halt, and departs before the day is done.
But this blast may last a bit longer. Over night, wind and rain brought down trees, power lines, and temperatures. Upon waking, I ventured to the basement, ready to find the presumptive puddle that now seems to accompany each bout of new precipitation. So far, the floor is dry, the lights are on, and our fingers are crossed.
Outside, skies are grey and conditions are changing. Peering thru the panes, I notice that as the air chills, it carries fewer drops and more flakes. We received a half inch of rain between dusk and dawn, and expect a couple inches of snow…and a layer of ice…before this day is done.
The ground is already wet, so ice is merely a matter of time and temperature. Our house rests below the road, which rises steeply from our cul-de-sac to the nearest street up the hill. Freezing temperatures should persist thru tomorrow, which will make pavement impassable, and keep us confined.
We’re OK with that. We realize that anyone living north of Nashville scoffs at the softness of Southerners surrendering to snow. But Yankee criticism of Dixie drivers is unwarranted, for several reasons.
For one thing, most “Southerners” are actually northerners. For several decades…and certainly the last couple years…refugees from higher latitudes have infiltrated the former Confederacy, and made themselves at home.
Which is fine…so long as they don’t try to make our home into themselves. We understand the reasons they fled their expensive, over-bearing, authoritarian hellholes. All we ask when they arrive is that they never forget why they left.
But they know as well as anyone that no one can drive on ice. I once worked with a friend from Chicago who confided in me after an ice storm brought out the predictable ridicule of incompetent Georgia drivers.
“I gotta tell you”, he whispered, as if sharing a closely-guarded secret, “no one can drive in ice. It’s not like Chicago drivers could do it, or that the city continued as normal whenever we had an ice storm. Drivers there were helpless too. It’s just that we were helpless more often, and were used to it.”
He paused and leaned further in…glancing quickly to either side to ensure no one was eavesdropping on his seditious divulgence. With a knowing nod that I was now “in” on some classified information, he continued dispensing it in a low tone that reinforced the notion that I didn’t hear it from him.
“Besides, we had equipment to deal with those conditions. We had ice and snow all the time, so were ready with salt and plows to quickly clear the roads. It’s not that the drivers were necessarily better. It’s that the resources were.
“We don’t have that here [in Atlanta], so we just have to wait it out. Snow and ice are rare enough that it usually makes more sense to just take the day off than to invest a bunch of money to clear roads. Don’t get me wrong. The drivers here are terrible…but it has nothing to do with ice. And I still don’t get why you all raid the stores, or what everyone does with all the milk and bread they clear from supermarket shelves when the first flake floats east across Alabama.”
We didn’t load up on milk or bread, but we do plan to stay home. Aside from Mass this morning, there’s no place we need to go anyway. It’s Sunday. Fresh coffee and a roaring fire warm the inside of the house, as falling snow begins to fill the outside air. It’s like living in a snow globe, with the world around us being shaken.
Our only concern is keeping power. We live in a forest, so electric lines are always susceptible to falling limbs from ubiquitous trees. But we’ve endured a dark, quiet house before, and are ready for it again.
The wine cellar is stocked, and the propane tanks are full. We can heat what we need and wash it down with what we like. And we have each other, which is more than enough to endure a day without power. We hope we need not suffer one, but are prepared if we do.
After all, with a bed, a book, a Bordeaux, and a candle…what more do we need?
JD
