Winter and Rough Weather

Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And turn his merry throat Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither:

Here shall he see No enemy But winter and rough weather.

Wm. Shakespeare

Atopic of universal interest and concern to all Americans is the weather. There's strong evidence to support this view: the well-publicized migration of erstwhile Yankees, Midwesterners, and others to the so called "Sun Belt"; the continuing popularity of such shrewd weather commentators as Mark Twain, Robert Frost, and Dr. Frank Field, and perhaps most revealingly, the extraordinary amount of time and money given to TV weather forecasters. It is also a well-known fact that percentages as a measure of success vary widely from profession to profession: in baseball, a slugger is worth a cold million if he hits safely three out of ten times at bat. A proquarterback, by contrast, has to connect with his receivers at least twice as often to continue to have his paycheck endorsed by the top brass. I don't dare to speculate what the figure is for weathermen, but, if we can believe the style section of the newspaper and People Magazine, they get paid handsomely even when the weather gods defy them.

Like economists, professional weather forecasters have nearly perfect hindsight; but who really cares at 6:00 pm. whether the temperature got up to 43° (that's 6° Celsius) or the wind was from the riorth-north-east at"5-7 knots? What we really want to know aside from why it snowed 10 inches when 68° and sunny was predicted should take about 30 seconds, max: keep your galoshes and umbrella close at hand tomorrow; break out the earmuffs and parkas for the weekend.

Up here in Hanover the home of the nation's oldest "official" college weekend, Dartmouth Winter Carnival there is always talk of the weather, especially after the most predictable of all holiday seasons, Thanks giving. You can be sure it will be partially overcast and chilly on turkey day and that the Lions will be on TV before the pumpkin pie is gone.

For some reason, it has taken winter longer to arrive in these parts this year than one might reasonably expect; yet whether it's at the supermarket, the bank, or over lunch, the question always comes up: just what sort of winter are we in for? The Farmer's Almanac, perennial source of wit, trivia, and guidance, predicts a rather mild season. The ski "resorts" are hoping the Almanac is dead wrong. But they're not taking any chances. Indeed, man made snow or should I say artificially induced snow has spawned quite an industry of its own. Real snow has already ravaged the Rockies and as everyone knows, it's just a matter of time before cumbersome boots, Chapstick, and woolen scarves become absolute necessities. "Weather ain't bad up here," I heard an old-timer say one rainy day last July. "We get about nine months of winter and three months of bad skiing."