Southerners let loose on Montana
Where I grew up, in and around Memphis, Tenn., snow was — oh, how to say this — nonexistent.
Maybe we got an inch here or a dusting there, but until my first winter in Montana I had never seen more than six inches of the white stuff at a time. While school children in Montana trudge to class through two feet of fresh powder, bundled up against a negative zero wind-chill, we'd be sitting at home on a "snow" day if only a few flurries were falling.
In fairness, Memphis has a huge number of elevated roadways that freeze immediately and not a snow plow or sand truck to be found. A skiff of snow really is enough to grind the city to a halt. But what I still can't believe is the days we got to stay home when all it did was rain. Forecasters would predict the worst — two, maybe three inches — and in a cautionary blitz, the school board would cancel class the night before. I'd wake up late and stare out the window only to find rain drops pattering on the glass.
I suppose growing up in a snow-starved environment has given me an appreciation for the stuff that can border on the ridiculous. When my Montana-born girlfriend sees snow covering the roads she groans with disgust, anticipating the snarled traffic and slush-covered sidewalks. I, on the other hand, split my time pretty evenly between daydreaming about how much snow fell up on the ski hill and gleefully sliding down our driveway in my house shoes. To each his own.
Driving in the snow is a skill I'm only mastering slowly. I'll be the guy driving 15 below the speed limit for the next ten years, but so far (knock on wood) I've been safe and am getting the hang of it.
What's the point of all this? My family — bless them — is coming to visit over Christmas and aside from a trip to Europe my mom took in college, none of them have ever seen any snow either. My three younger siblings want to ski and snowboard and my parents want to make sure their thin southern blood doesn't freeze in their veins. They love Montana as much as anyone, but they've only loved it in the summer. With no wildflowers to ogle or swimming holes to enjoy I've explained that they might find an undiscovered passion for ice fishing.
It will be, I think, a spectacularly funny week.
—Alex Strickland