by Roy Hodge
In the middle of a period of intense summer heat here, I am to bring you just enough Fulton winter weather and snow information to perhaps cool you off a little but not so much that you have to get your snow shovel out of the basement.
Here is something I wrote in February of 1994 when Fulton was in the middle of a typical winter, and I was wondering if it would ever end:
I know that I am not alone but at this point of time I feel like a refugee of a winter that will never end.
My snow shovel became a wasted pile of wood and plastic about 100 inches of snow ago.
There is a path between my house and car but it is now about two feet higher than the top step of my porch.
I now have to stick two fingers into the middle finger space in one of my gloves because the finger next to that has a big hole in it.
My car doesn’t have one of those electronic voices but if it did I know it would be saying to me, “Go back inside, stupid, it’s 20 below zero out here.”
I don’t know what to do; my nose is running, but everything else refuses to.
I am so embarrassed to sit down in front of people and put plastic bags over my feet so I can get my boots on.
With all the snow we have piled up there could be a couple of very tall people alongside all those Christmas trees in our snow piles.
My snow brush has lost so many bristles that my toothbrush would do a better job clearing my windshield.
I am trying to think of clever answers that can be repeated in a family newspaper for all those people who keep asking, “Cold enough for you?”
I think I would finally appreciate the long johns that I used to hate receiving from my grandmother every Christmas of my youth.
Does anyone really care that Oswego or Syracuse may have received more snow than Fulton? (For the record though, I’m sure neither one of them have.)
There is enough salt on my car to keep a large herd of cows happy all summer long. (Do cows still lick those things?)
Why, in the middle of a nasty winter, do we have to tolerate Punxsutawney Phil? Why doesn’t someone put him in a cave where there are no shadows?
I would also like to find a special place for the news commentator who reminds us that in past years we have received an accumulation of snow in April, May, and yes, even June.
Do I care that there are 34 more days until the official beginning of spring? (That translates into about 816 hours, or 48,960 minutes or about three to four more feet of snow.)
Yes, I am a refugee of winter.
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