There is still a mound of snow on the corner of my lawn. It was created by the plows during the February snow storms here in New Jersey and once stood over five feet tall. As the days passed, it changed from white to grey to muddy black from the passing traffic and turned into a nearly solid chunk of ice. That’s when my husband dubbed it the McGuinness Glacier and swore that it would be standing here long into June. At the time, I laughed at him, but I’m beginning to wonder if it might not be true because even after several days of 50-plus degree weather, a sizable chunk of our glacier remains while other neighborhood lawns show no remnants of winter.
It reminds me how jaded we’ve become in the last few years with limited snowfall and long stretches of downright balmy weather. I can even recall a year when I protested the rain that always seemed to come on a weekend. After this year, with single-digit temperatures for days and snowfalls measured in feet instead of inches, I will never again complain about a winter when I don’t need to dress for Arctic exploration just to go to the grocery store.
To quote the weekly announcement that has been posted outside a local church since mid-February: “Whoever is praying for snow, please stop”.