Tag: stlwx

White Snow, Blue Skies

K. Schall DeYong

It isn’t often in St. Louis that we get the kind of weather that’s characterized the last few weeks. Up until February hit, it had been a mild winter so far, with just one significant snowfall at the tail end of January. It seemed there was a chance that we might just ease into an early spring.

And then it hit. Single digit temperatures, arctic winds, and snow on snow on snow. These things have been known to make an appearance once or twice a winter in St. Louis, but rarely for long. This time though, the persistence of the cold gave us a sight we rarely get to see here: snow that stuck around through sunny days. Too often, our snowfalls, no matter how glorious, turn to grey slush or melt away completely within a day or two. It’s just not cold enough for it to stick around, especially if the sun comes out. But days of subzero temperatures brought the gift sunlit snow glittering beneath blue skies.

That wasn’t the only unusual sight, either. This cold was deep enough freeze just about everything. Pipes burst, giant icicles hung from the bottoms of overpasses, Forest Park’s Grand Basin froze over so solid that park visitors walked across it with confidence. It was a cold so brutal that when the high temperature for the day crossed 20 degrees, it suddenly felt like springtime. Even the birds were out and singing like it was an April afternoon. And the birds weren’t far off: with rain and warmer temperatures in the forecast now, the time for a thaw has come. Today’s snow will be tomorrow’s trickling slush, seeping down into the soil to give life to the seeds that are waiting there.

Late First Snow

K. Schall DeYong

The first snow came late this year, hitting St. Louis last Wednesday at the tail end of January. Until then, it had been a dry winter. There was a barely-there dusting of snow once; another day, 8 hours of flurries that didn’t stick; and a coat of ice that glazed the trees on the first morning of the year before it melted by early afternoon. Other than that, there hadn’t been much precipitation in the city all winter.

This unusually dry winter makes you wonder about the bulbs and buds sleeping through the season. Will the lack of water affect them when spring comes around?

But there’s no need to worry yet. Wednesday’s snow was followed by a day-long downpour on Saturday, and there’s more snow and rain in the forecast. We associate snow with the holiday season, but in reality, January and February are the snowiest months of the year here. There is still plenty of time for winter weather. As January draws to a close, department stores roll out their spring dresses and put their overcoats on clearance. But nature is in no hurry—winter is far from over.

A Long Year: 2020 in Review

K. Schall DeYong

2020 was unusual in the universality of its hardships. It kept us all away from so many of the people and traditions we loved. For a number of reasons, it kept me away from this blog.

But even as the pandemic and wildfires and floods raged around the world, nature was kind to us this year here in St. Louis. Unlike the temperamental springs of recent years, the spring of 2020 was long and mild, easing gracefully out from the winter cold and patiently waiting until June to give way to hotter temperatures. Horticulturists at the Missouri Botanical Garden noted that the gentle weather made for the best spring blooms in a decade. The summer was not so cruel as usual, either. Not once did we hit the triple digit temperatures that seem to come around every July to beat us down and flatten us into the pavement. Autumn, too, was exceptional. In recent years, the blue skies and mild temperatures have taken their sweet time, showing up in late October and leaving a week later to make way for frozen rain and nasty winds. But this year, it made an early appearance in chilly September nights and stuck around through November. Even wintertime has been tame so far. It’s January now, and temperatures have only dipped into the teens once; no major storms have shut down roads or knocked out power. The mild days allowed us to get out of our homes for walks or picnics; to see friends and family safely outdoors; to take trips to state parks when we couldn’t travel elsewhere. In a year so full of cruelty, injustice, and loss of life, this mellow weather felt like a gift.

With the winter solstice now freshly behind us, the days are growing longer again, and vaccines now provide a light at the end of the tunnel of the pandemic. For now, though, as we plunge headfirst into this new year, nothing much has changed. Nature, too, goes about its business, unaffected by the changing of the calendar. As the loneliness and anxieties of this era continue, take the time to step outside into the sharp cold of a crisp winter day, to stand on your front step and look at the little cloud that rises from your nose. Be grateful for the breath in your lungs; for the goodness of life and all that is living.

The Tease

K. Schall DeYong

What a relief it was this weekend to recall what a warm day feels like. The wet smell of a living, thawing earth had everyone acting like it’s early May. Every sidewalk had its runners. Cyclists wore short sleeves. Daydreams of springtime took shape at the seed stand at Home Depot, where a miniature crowd had gathered to size up the vegetable options. Even the birds, perhaps smelling that same thaw, sang with optimism.

Every winter we get a a sensational pop of warmth out of nowhere. Every winter, no matter how many years it’s turned out to be dead-wrong in the past, people catch that glimpse of sunshine and start predicting an early spring. And when you’re outside in a single layer of clothes for the first time in months, warm and sunny and light as a feather, you’re convinced. The warmth is on its way. It must be.

It’s a dream that rarely comes true. Anyone who got out and tried to get some yard work done this weekend can tell you that the ground is still frozen totally solid at just an inch or so deep. There are dip-downs to the teens and twenties on their way, and chances of snow pepper the forecast.

But there’s no reason to be depressed about winter continuing. After all, January has hardly even been put to bed. A winter that ended this early would disturb the animals who are still trying to get some rest. It would call out too early to the seeds brewing underground, waiting for the sign to push their way up. No, for now we just have to be patient, and to understand that winter is not opposed to life, but part of the cycle of life itself.

Snowstorm in a City Somewhat Accustomed

K. Schall DeYong

First there are the whispers. The weatherman says snow, but we are doubtful. We’ve all got a boy-who-cried-wolf story about a St. Louis forecast. We poo-poo and pish-posh and ho-hum. Then we go about our week. Only the kids take it seriously because they know unless they believe with all their might, they won’t get their snow day.

Then comes the preparation. The shrugging-it-off gives way to MoDot trucks and landlords salting the sidewalks. Now begins the rush to the grocery store. Everybody’s got to get their soup, their snowmelt, their sleds and their scrapers. At a Kingshighway gas station on Friday afternoon, a man stood in line at the checkout, clutching one windshield scraper in each hand. “Lucky man,” said the cashier. “You got the last two!” The man in line behind him let out a gasp—he’d been waiting to ask the employee if they had any in stock. The first man took pity on him and gifted him one of his two new scrapers—“Well, I’d be evil not to!” he said.

The city-wide anticipation rises to a panic as even the most determined of the naysayers give in and run out on last-minute missions. So begins the fervor. Dad’s at Dierbergs calling mom to see if they’ve got flour in the pantry. The kids are hollering. Target sells out of sleds. Highways pack tight with people fleeing for the homestead. On the unplowed neighborhood backroads, little cars are pushed uphill by friendly neighbors. The bartenders and baristas pray that the owner will have the goodwill and decency to call up and set them free before their car gets buried. Some are luckier than others. Then the telltale blue banner goes up on the bottom of the screen on the local news: here they come, the closings. The students are giddy.

And here in the midst of the fever-pitch-frenzy comes the reveal: it has come. They were dead-on, right on the money. The snow is here, and here in huge mounds…it’s coming down and it’s stopping for nobody. The highway is jam-packed, come to a stop. For every living creature in town, this storm is the highlight of the day.

In St. Louis, we all know what to do when a big snow hits. We aren’t unaccustomed to snowstorms. We aren’t afraid. The panic that overtakes the city doesn’t come from fear—it comes from an insatiable urge to launch into those old snow day rituals we partake in every time. God forbid you get caught without cookie dough or hot chocolate! You won’t have another day like this for God-knows-how-long. So after you’ve made it through the treacherous traffic, the holiday commences. You shut the door behind you and split a six-pack with your significant other. You suit up to go sledding or shovel neighbors’ driveways. You swap horror stories about the traffic with everyone you see. When the whole city comes to a halt, anybody who’s able will gladly take their customary sabbatical. It’s tradition!

Whatever you do, don’t miss the most precious moment of these snows. Late at night, when everyone else is asleep, crack open your door and take a long look. The soft white glow lights the night sky almost lavender. And listen. The downy drifts soak up the noise of the city. Even the sounds you can hear seem distant, soft. There is the sense that nothing could go wrong on this night. All is peaceful. All is well. A summer night holds a buzzing energy, the heat of potential and possibility. But a snowy night holds you in its palm and whispers, “rest.” So close the door behind you, and, turning in for a snug winter sleep, surrender.