The Winter that Would Never End

Sidewalk buried under "Mount Bronson," County Street

It has been a long, cold, dark, snowy, ruthless winter in New England. It is usually said, given such conditions, that only the skiers are happy. But this winter, even ardent skiers are yearning for spring. And the plow drivers – bless them for having not yet slipped a gear.

In Attleboro, the potholes on Thacher street below the railroad bridge are of a particularly vicious nature. Multitudinous, cavernous, sharp-edged, a recipe for bone-jarring, heart-stopping whacks which test the vehicle’s suspension and the owner’s wallet.  More experienced drivers are aware of the danger, slowing to avoid these chasms . The younger ones, perhaps, with some life lessons to learn.

Persistent winds across the Locust Valley, or in opposite direction sweeping Leach’s meadow, have squeezed Locust Street to barely a lane and a half. Witness to the ineffectiveness of lightweight trucks in achieving curb to curb clearance, and perhaps calling for that Vermont Yankee solution, the snow fence. (Snow fences are temporary structures erected after golfers have abandoned the links and dismantled before the robins return and daffodils bloom). A simple solution, perhaps too old fashioned to appeal.

Repeated plowings from both the street and parking lot sides have raised up a veritable “Mount Bronson” of snow at the Bronson building on Country Street. The “Do Not Enter” sign seems balefully directed at pedestrians, those mothers with strollers and elderly trekkers who are forced to trudge in the busy street. While the city was able to quickly clear the site of the Winter Festival, Mount Bronson has remained impervious for over four weeks. We are apparently following the North Carolina model of snow removal here – “Just wait long enough and it will melt.”

Animals, domestic and wild, are having to persevere. The deep snow pack and tall, plowed banks are channeling dogs and their walkers into hoary canyons. This has the effect of concentrating the inevitable detritus of dogs, only some of which is picked up by diligent human attendants. Ah, well, a problem to be dealt with only if the thaw ever arrives.

Squirrels have been notably absent for weeks, in semi-hibernation as food sources shrivel. Only recently have they slowly reemerged to do battle with the birds twittering about the feeders, scattered black oil sunflower seeds, their common pursuit.   

Who knows where the deer and turkeys have gone? Huddled, perhaps in a deep piney  copse or thick swamp, desperate by now for a buried acorn or tuft of dormant grass or a low-hanging cedar branch on which to nosh. The next few weeks will be tough for them, as the snow pack slowly melts enough to reveal hidden nourishment and, eventually, sustain new growth.

All in all, we should pat ourselves on our collective back. There are millions of people in our broad land who have never had to deal with such a winter. But we have done it, with some aplomb. Residents with snow blowers and plow drivers honchoing big machines have done a credible job of keeping an enormous amount of snow at bay. Roofs have been cleaned, fireplugs unburied. Exercise enthusiasts are seen jogging (mostly in the streets), and many have resorted to cross country skiing or snow shoeing as hearty alternatives.

The sun is much stronger now, we can feel it. Higher in the sky, brighter, hotter, closer it seems. Even on frigid days, the ice is beginning to melt from long-encased driveways. We will survive, with stories extolling our strength and virtue to mock our snowbird friends as they make their eventual, fainthearted return. (Although, perhaps not so secretly, we envy them).

Yes, we have been tested and have risen to the challenge. There is only one imperative thing we could have done better.

Let’s clear the sidewalks. Pedestrian lives matter.