Catherine Flowers: Minnesota winters are too much

Commentary

I hate winter. It is way too excessive for my taste: too cold, too dark, too long -- and then there's the snow!

I wish I didn't feel this way. I wish that I could summon the necessary grace to accept winter and all its warts, but even after 30 years in the Midwest, I find I simply cannot.

I begin to anticipate winter's arrival in October. Even as I enjoy the intoxicating colors and delight at the cool, crisp air, I feel apprehensive. I hear the geese honking their departure, and know that I should follow them south.

In November, when the temperatures drop and the days disappear into night, my body begins to tense. I pay more attention to the weather reports and look and listen for any mention of that four-letter word.

Ironically, it is a relief when the first snow arrives. Now I no longer have to anticipate winter: I can just deal with it.

And, in the beginning, it really doesn't seem all that bad; the beauty and the silence of the snow-covered landscape are magical. The season brings a change of pace to my life; no longer tethered to the demands of my garden and other outside activities, I can relax more.

I begin some knitting project or bring out my rug-hooking frame. I even begin to write again and feel that this just might be the winter when I finally finish my memoir project.

I bake bread. I delight in eating the familiar winter foods of my childhood: rutabagas and turnips and parsnips; jacket potatoes baked to near-burnt crispness, dripping with butter and cheese.

I look for new recipes and invite friends to dinner. Of course, there are times when they are unable to make it to my house, or I to theirs, because of a storm or skin-freezing cold.

But, I tell myself, that is just a fact of life in a Minnesota winter.

I am still able to maintain this Zen-like attitude in December, partly because I am busy with the activities of Christmas but also because this is the month of the solstice.

My birthday is in January, and so I can focus on that, celebrating with as many friends and over as many days as possible.

By February, though, Zen is nowhere to be found, and the desire to snuggle in becomes more of a struggle to get out. I dread the alarm on workday mornings and cling my fingernails into the mattress.

I simply do not have the energy to face another day of winter. It is cold. It is dark. I want out.

On days such as these, when I finally roust myself from bed, I head to the kitchen to make a cup of tea: black with milk. I have been starting my day with tea for as long as I can remember. It's what we English do. And I am heartened by that thought.

Unfortunately, this sense of well-being is brief, and by the time I have arrived at work and penguin-walked my way across campus, I am dangerously close to slitting my wrists. The camaraderie with colleagues helps to cheer me, though, and because I hate being grumpy more than I hate winter, I try to rally.

When the snow comes in April, bringing our winter total to 85 inches, I want to spit.

I have to restrain myself when certain colleagues remark on how pretty it is and, upon seeing my scowl, hastily assure me that it will soon melt. I wonder at their misplaced optimism and silently vow never to be this stoic.

Let's face it: Six months of winter is just too long and should not be tolerated. It is good to rail against such unfairness, even when one is up against nature. Besides, a good winter whine, every now and then, helps to keep me warm!

Catherine Flowers is a financial aid counselor at St. Catherine University in St. Paul.

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