Southerners and Snow

The Pittsburgh TV weatherman was forecasting more snow. My family and I were preparing to return from a holiday visit with my in-laws in northwestern Pennsylvania. Every chance I had to catch the local newscast, I would be there when the TV was on, hanging onto every word of the forecast.

“Six inches of snow tonight,” he said. This was no consolation to me, a native South Carolinian who is naturally paranoid about the thought of driving on anything frozen. One of a southerner's worst nightmares is to lose control on an icy road in a strange rust belt city. All too easily I could imagine the minivan sitting half buried in a snowbank as passing motorists notice our South Carolina license plate and have a chuckle at our expense. I had wiped out before, and once is enough. I had memories of one particular white-knuckle ride across the snowy landscape with my father-in-law to my sister-in-law's in Ohio for Thanksgiving dinner. My life passed before me as the little Taurus passed the semi rigs around the curve along I-80 at 70 miles per hour. By some miracle we made the 160-mile round trip okay.

As we backed out of my in-laws' driveway, there it was – a fresh coating of snow – about six inches worth as predicted the evening before. As we carefully navigated the minivan through the small Pennsylvania town, I marveled that the rhythm of the day hadn't skipped a beat. Businesses were all open, lights were all on, and people walked the sidewalks as they do every day.

It's not that way in South Carolina. Here's the drill. Someone sights a snowflake, TV news crews scramble to set up their cameras where the snowflake was seen and wall-to-wall coverage ensues. School superintendents are on the phone. “Close the schools! Stop the school buses!”

“It's not sticking to the road yet, but it's still coming down,” says the reporter, clothed like an eskimo in the frigid 32 degree early morning air. More often than not, the little bit of snow that stuck to the ground or tree branches would be gone well before lunchtime. But the kids are home pelting each other with the slushballs they made by what little bit of frozen stuff they can get their hands on.

At the same time, recent transplants from the North are having fun with this scenario. Us southerners get our share of ribbing from them.

“You guys close when the first snowflake is spotted!”

Or, “You guys call this snow?”

Of course, that's easy for them to say. Our road maintenance crews don't have an army of snowplows or stockpiles of sand and chemicals like they do in northern states. But instead of arguing this point, I prefer this comeback: “Hey, it's as good an excuse as any to get the day off!”

I'm satisfied with the occasional snow rather than the winter wonderland above the Mason-Dixon line.

By the way, our next trip to Pennsylvania will be in July.