Transitions

Something white this way comes.

Some transitions are frightful. Like starting a new job. Or navigating a new relationship. Others are anticipated with great excitement. Like eyeing the chocolate section of those three-flavor ice cream cartons after just inhaling the vanilla and strawberry sections.

One of the more frightful transitions is upon us: Autumn into Winter. Or cool to cold, rain to snow, radials to snow tires. Yes, good friends and neighbors, we’re about to go from, “Honey, where’s my snorkel and water shoes,” to “Honey, where are my long johns and Sorels?”

Now, I’ve experienced Adirondack winters…but  briefly.

I’ve enjoyed skiing, sledding, snowmobiling and snow shoeing. I’ve enjoyed camping in the snow. I’ve even enjoyed experiencing 33 below temperatures…but again, briefly. The thing is, after all that winter wonderland fun, I went home. Said “Good bye and good luck” to you poor, frigid souls who live up here year-round as I gleefully scoot south down I-87, the snow drifts and chattering teeth in my rear-view.

Having moved up here full-time, I’m now one of you poor, frigid souls. And I’ve realized something ironic: the main goal of Adirondack homeowners (of which I am now one) in winter is to get rid of it: shovel it, plow it, de-ice it, chop it, torch it, scrape it, melt it, roof rake it, magnesium chloride it, whatever it takes to combat IT.

To that point, we employ what I call my “Winter Weapons.” I’ve gotten advisories from my accountant about how much I’m spending on arming myself against winter, but luckily he understands (somewhat anyway) because he lives in South Dakota.

Let’s see, the armory includes: a new (used) all-wheel drive vehicle, snow tires, a snow blower, choppers, scrapers, hand warmers, hats, gloves (electric and not), socks (electric and not) , sweaters, ash cans, roof rakes, antifreeze, gutter de-icers that never work, two new wood stoves, seven cords (real cords, not face cords) of firewood, a hydraulic wood splitter, a constant flow of UPS deliveries of fire starters, pet-friendly ice melting crystals, and more shovels than I care to mention.

And that doesn’t include winter recreational gear. You must know the logic here: we’re permanent residents now, so why rent equipment? We should own things like skis and boots, including cross-country skis and boots. I’ve come close to buying two snow mobiles, but that’s where my accountant drew the line. Then, of course there are the various and sundry sleds, snow shoes, crampons, walking poles, goggles, helmets, etc.

Okay, okay I hear all you long time residents saying, “You’ve lived here one winter so far. And last winter was one of the mildest we’ve had. You haven’t really experienced a true Adirondack, no-place-to- put-any-more-snow, my-Lord-it’s-snowing-again, the-car-won’t-start, where’s-that-plow-guy-anyway, I’ve-thrown-my-back-out-shoveling-and-I’m-all-out- of-Ben-Gay…winters.” And that’s true. But I think I’m armed to the teeth and confident.

And I will say this: in my mind, Adirondack winters truly rival Adirondack summers in terms of beauty, in terms of fun stuff to do, in terms of any criterion you want to throw at it except maybe the facility to get a tan. And not just visually. To me, one of the more beautiful aspects of Adirondack winters is the silence. To stand in a field blanketed with snow and experience a quiet so deep your ears seem to hurt is one of the Adirondacks secret gifts.

So while we’re all transitioning and packing up our shorts, t-shirts and flip-flops and sticking them on the top shelf in the closet, this Adirondack rookie says, don’t think “Something wicked this way comes,” just think, “Something wonderful this way comes.” Anyway, that’s what I’ll be thinking…

Until I’m neck-deep in it with another broken shovel.