A little over a hundred years ago a young girl in Augusta, Georgia was given a writing assignment by her teacher. “Write a poem about snow,” the teacher said. Snow, as you might imagine, was something about which Gertrude knew very little. Living in Augusta doesn’t give you much perspective on the subject.
I can only guess that on that day so long ago snow had made a rare appearance in Augusta. I knew Gertrude for the last 40 years of her very long life. Sometime in her 10th decade she told me, for the umpteenth time, about the writing assignment. “I didn’t know anything about snow except that it was white. We really didn’t go out and play in it. It just looked pretty through the window.”
Well, she may not have known much about snow, but part of Gertrude’s poem has survived, at least in the feeble mind of this writer. It went something like this:
“Snow”
If you fall down, you will not get dirty.
This was composed by your little friend Gerty.
That delightful little ditty was the sum total of my friend’s experience with snow, and the older she grew, the funnier the story got. She died in her hundredth year, having lived 99 virtually snow-free winters.
I think Gertrude would be happy to know that, according to the Weather Channel, along with our rain deficit, many parts of our country are caught up in the midst of a “snow drought.” Well Boo Hoo! I’m not shedding any tears over that little bit of information.
We have it pretty easy here in the Southwest Georgia. Sure it gets a little warm in the summer and we have the occasional cold day in winter, but all-in-all our weather is just about picture perfect. It’s not like that all over. In some parts of the country people spend nine months of the year shoveling out from under the ice and snow.
They don’t have much choice, for in many places snow shoveling is a way of life. It is also the law. One way or another, the sidewalks must be kept clean for pedestrians. Much like using a landscaping service, those who are unwilling or unable to shovel snow must pay big bucks to have someone else to do the dirty work. Of course, many of those who can afford to do so sell out and move to Florida.
Those who have to remain in the Snow Belt try to assuage their misery by engaging in things like ice fishing or something called the skeleton. They also play wacky winter games like ice hockey and curling. Sounds like more fun than a barrel of Eskimos!
I’m glad I live in a world without snow. I’ll take mosquitos and gnats. I’ll suffer with the armadillos and the bats. I can even live with poisonous snakes. In fact, I can’t think of any curse or pestilence that would be as bad as the constant fear of being buried alive in an avalanche.
I may well die of a heart attack one day, but I can promise that when it happens I won’t be shoveling snow. On the outside chance I have any say so in the matter, my choice would be to expire on the white sugar sands of the Redneck Riviera.
With that cheery little thought in mind, I close with a bit of poetry of my own…with apologies to Gertrude “Gaga” Blitchington.
“Sand”
If you fall down, it won’t make you sick
This was composed by your little friend, Stick.
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