The last time it snowed this late around here, the Titanic had already filled up its passenger list and was ready to set sail to the New World. My father was 1-year-old that year. He died 10 years ago at the age of 90, so that offers a clear perspective of how strange this year’s weather is.
The plows have been out all night, and I have six inches of snow in my driveway. Later I will shovel, but right now it’s still snowing.
I’m no stranger to snow at any time of the year. I was born in the north woods of Wisconsin, and when I was 5-years-old, we huddled under blankets and Mackinaws on the Fourth of July, setting off rockets while flakes of snow drifted in from the lake.
Years later in Minnesota, the mid-August apple harvest in my back yard was delayed because of snow. The next day we probed through three inches of the stuff to dig carrots out of the garden.
That harsh part of the country commonly demanded parkas and mittens for mowing the lawn any time through Memorial Day. Even so, the accepted snow removal plan after the end of March in Minnesota was to “wait for Spring.” Why shovel when it would warm up and melt in a few days anyway?
I have no idea what caused this radical weather pattern. It could be a delayed reaction from the atomic tests conducted in the Pacific after World War II.
But, just to be safe, if there is another newly christened ship getting ready to sail from England, I hope it calls the voyage off until next month.