It’s beautiful. It’s fun. And it gets such a dang bad rap around here.
It’s snow.
Now before you Floridians and Texans and Californians come after me with pitchforks or (perhaps more likely) break down crying, give me a moment. Yes, it’s cold. Yes, it’s going to take over our Hillsdale lives for several months. Yes, it’s going to be a pain at times. All facts; I have neither basis nor intent to deny them.
But those are realities whether we like them or not, and frankly, it does us no good to complain. For us northerners (I’m from eastern Washington), snow has been the defining characteristic of the outdoors for, quite possibly, nearly a third of our lives. Yet for some of my friends here, last year was the first time they had so much as seen snow.
In terms of snow experience, we have the whole spectrum here. There are those who love and who hate snow. In case it’s not already clear: I love snow. But I totally get it if you don’t. I’ve lived with it long enough to know the bad as well as the good. Not to be melodramatic, but we all have a choice to make: We can love the snow, hate the snow, or simply live indifferently to it.
I think you should love it, but if you aren’t going to love it, then at least be indifferent to it. Snow can be a blast. It can easily be turned into one of the most effective non-casualty-inducing projectile weapons ever thought up by the human race. It can be built into forts worth sleeping in (or hiding in, for the perfect chance to launch one of those projectiles). It’s that which makes Thatcherball and Lantzball possible.
But more significantly, it’s simply beautiful. There’s a sense of wonder in snow. Without going full-out cliché (though I have no qualms about coming close): There’s a beauty in the unique structures of a snowflake. As we’ve all heard, no two snowflakes are alike. But next time you’re out while it’s snowing, take a moment and catch a few snowflakes. Take the time to look at them before they melt. And weep at the beauty. And wonder.
The ice, too, is a pain. There will be plenty of complaining that the administration could do a better job maintaining the sidewalks and walkways, and people have been hurt in the past. So certainly be careful. But complaining will, first, do no good, and second, drag the mood of those around you down. So if you have a constructive idea, go for it, but complaining won’t do you or your friends any good. Shameless plug alert: Turn that complaining into action. Go out and help people who don’t have any way to clear the snow themselves — i.e., join A Few Good Men’s snow removal team. Honestly, we have it good on campus.
We have a team of professionals dedicated to keeping campus accessible; we have to do none of that work ourselves, even though as young men and women we’re among the best equipped by nature to do that kind of thing. But there are people in the broader Hillsdale community who will literally be unable to leave their homes without someone coming in and helping them out. If you’re not a fan of the snow — even as little of an inconvenience as it normally is on campus — imagine being actually trapped by it. Action is the truest sign that something genuine underpins a complaint.
Look, I’m not asking you to love snow. But it’s coming — in fact, it’s already here. So bundle up, trudge (carefully) onward, and claim those fireside seats in the union. But along the way, craft a snowman, or launch a snowball, or help your community. Enjoy the snow for all that it has to offer, and offer what you have in the face of the snow.