Observing Snow

For many years I was self-appointed inspector of snow-storms and rain-storms and did my duty faithfully.

- Henry David Thoreau, Walden

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The northeast's tardy winter is coming fully into its own today, with the first "real" snowstorm of the season. February 14, eh? This is when the locals are generally looking for winter to start winding down. The skiers resigned themselves to a disappointing season months ago, and everyone else is enjoying the reprieve from heavy-duty shoveling for the year. So far, at least. And even now, though conditions are treacherous, we won't be getting the foot-of-snow-topped-off-by-ice-storm that was forecast.

I didn't grow up around all that much snow. My first experience living in real winter began my freshman year at East Hill University* in Oddtown*, New York. Plenty of snow there, as well as a mountainous one-mile trek between dorms and classes. (You know those stories about walking to school uphill both ways in the snow? Ahem.) Fortunately, I discovered the winter to be far more tolerable than summer ever had been in all those tropical and sub-tropical places where I'd spent my childhood, so for now, I'm stuck on the north country. Well, the semi-north, at least. Those places in the upper midwest where you can't go outside with any skin exposed or turn off your car's engine for months at a time don't really appeal. And to think there's a whole country north of there...

My parents weren't snow-initiated either, until they moved to Rustingham*, New York, while I was in college. Rustingham enjoys copious amounts of lake-effect snow, a largely misunderstood phenomenon which is to the lakeshore regions of the US what rain is to Seattle. Rustingham, however, doesn't get quite as much snow as, say, Buffalo (94 inches per year, average), Rochester, (93 inches, all of which fell last week), or Syracuse (116 inches). Oddtown averages around 70 inches per year, and Selfimportantville, being a seaport, runs only around 40 inches, though out here in the inland suburbs we see rather more.

Of course, some places are totally different. According to the National Snow and Ice Data Center:

The greatest snowfall officially reported at the Phoenix, Arizona National
Weather Service Office was one inch. That occurred twice. The first time was January 20, 1933. It happened again four years later on the same date.

Perhaps next year I'll have to write on international snow.

Oh, and by the way, Happy Valentine's Day, everyone. Hope you can actually dig out in time to make your dinner reservations.
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*Place names changed protect my obsession of superficial anonymity, as usual.

Regarding Harriet

Listening to an audiobook in the car this afternoon, I was surprised to encounter the third work in a row featuring a character named Harriet. This most recent Harriet was the other woman to the central character in a John Updike story. The previous Harriets were, respectively, a middle-aged cookbook author in Death of a Snob and the lovelorn ghostwriter-turned-bagelmaker protagonist of Isabel's Bed. Come to think of it, infidelity has been just as consistent a theme through these pieces as has Harriet. (Yes, yes, it's Updike. I know.)

I tried to think of other literary Harriets, and came up with a few; Harriet Smith, prime victim of personal interference in Emma; Harriet Vane, romantic foil of Lord Peter Wimsey; Harriet the Spy, though I've never actually read that one. There have been a few Harriets on the other side of the page, too; Harriet Beecher Stowe, of course, Harriet Smart, Harriet Taylor (the eventual wife of John Stuart Mill), and doubtless dozens others, since it's a common enough name.

I don't know whether I've ever met a Harriet personally, but if so, I don't remember her. At some point, there must have been plenty of Harriets in Hollywood, though I can't think of any except for Harriet Nelson. According to U.S. Government web publications, there are no Harriets in the 110th Congress. And, so far as I can discover, there is no Saint Harriet recognized by the Roman Catholic Church.