It’s been a bit since the last snow storm. Well known the fact that it would snow in Aroostook County at some point.
In the time of grandparents and other relatives the news would have been interesting but nothing more. One would go to sleep at night and wake up in the morning to a whole bunch of the white stuff on the ground. The first couple of storms with their joy and excitement of something new in the neighborhood and then it would settle down to the usual drudgery of shoveling, sanding, and shoveling again.
Now it’s an event. The weather wizards in Caribou and Gray make their predictions. These are then sent by a tortoise on caffeine to be announced in all four corners of the region and every place under the rocks. Followed by many expletive laden oaths and imprecations as the task of getting snow tires and plow blades out of storage and onto the beasts of burden. Best to avoid the roads around garages at this time. Those lines are long.
There will of course be discussions of tires, studs, and poultices of salt and sand for the yard. None of this will be for the fainthearted. Grim-faced mechanics will advise replacing all those bald tires with new ones. The brake mechanic will hint of dire catastrophe if all the calipers and pads are not replaced and the head deputy in the sheriff’s office hands out fresh boxes of accident reports in triplicate.
Further prognostications of impending doom come in the form of artistic dances. Standing like a wall flower in front of a wall, the weatherman will throw his hands up in the air. Sashaying to the right and left he begins a dance that is sure to please the weather gods. Arms a waving and chants of precipitous precipitation; chill factors; wind speeds, and homey advice provide the soundtrack as the Grand Poobah of Sky Talk, opines about the results of this latest dance. Witch doctors in far away Africa would applaud the skill. Some powerful mojo is about to be unleashed and the sinners in the crowd should repent the canoodling of relatives long in the past.
Diners and coffee shops order tubs of coffee and more donuts. There is a storm coming and it’s best to be prepared. A simple donut and a cup of coffee has enough excitement for a whole day. Just ask about that at the Mapleton Diner. Life in the slow lane!
Principals say goodbye to their hair as they start eyeballing the sky for the offending flakes. Where will the kids go if this storm hits. Prayers are offered to all sorts of gods that the snow might fall when school is not in session and the parents have to look after them. The local television station breaks out the weather alert stones that crawl across the screen. Chisels in hand the operators tap out slow messages of where flakes have been spotted.
One lone flake descends on a reconnaissance mission and reporters are all over it. Under the glare of a thousand candles the flake withers and melts. First person interviews carry the last words of a pale faced water creature. Snow is coming. Hide the women. Hide the children. Make your peace with your maker. It is the end of the world.
Gesticulating gyrations of grand pomposity greet each flake, and then it is all over but the plowing. Stories are made in times like these. Of travelers found minutes before they are consumed by snakes; of plows that have gone berserk from too much salt; and heroic efforts to rescue the fool who did not replace his tires soon enough. Inhale deeply, relax, repeat. It’s only a little snow.
Orpheus Allison is a photojournalist living in The County who graduated from UMPI and earned a master of liberal arts degree from the University of North Carolina. He began his journalism career at WAGM television later working in many different areas of the US. After 20 years of television he changed careers and taught in China and Korea.
