This picture is posted in honor of the way life used to be in December. I don't remember all these horrible ice storms and nasty southeasters bothering us in years past. (Well, there was Maine's Ice Storm of the Century in 1998.) We used to get just plain snow, and could count on skiing at Tanglewood on the Duck Trap River or skating on Hosmer Pond next to Ragged Mountain. After a big snowfall the air would be crisp and cold for days, i.e, it wouldn't rain 24 hours later. Poor precious fir trees! They're built for shoulders of light and airy snow, not 70 mph winds and the wet stuff that breaks their limbs and our backs.
And when we do have the possibility of a real snowstorm, like tomorrow maybe, everyone panics and floods their refrigerators with milk and cancels school hours before a flake has fallen.
These days snow on the coast is so unlikely that a local jeweler will refund any money you spend with him if it snows on Christmas Day. (Although he's probably got it hedged with collateralized frozen precipitation obligations.) And if we do get some, I'm sure the Global Warming gods (I picture them living in Miami, gleefully spewing clouds of smoke and CO2 from their Cuban cigars) will decree that a warm front must immediately follow, leaving us but a few hours to shovel and gambol and watch the dog disappear in the yard.
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