Supposedly the coldest morning in Boston since 1957 at -9 degrees. Since our physical plant here held up well I’m kinda … Yawn. I can’t think of a winter when I was growing up at 4500′ above sea level when it didn’t get that cold at least a few times. You knew things were getting bad back then when, bundled up or not, you stepped outdoors and it hurt. You knew it was going to be a tough winter when it had snowed by Halloween. It was unheard of for it not to have stormed at least once or twice and probably several times by Thanksgiving. And winter always lasted until the end of March.
In my final session with my former GP, he asked if I was getting a kick out of the monster winter of 2014-2015. I said hell no it sucked dead donkey dicks and he was shocked (no, that’s not literally what I said). Shocked because he thought growing up in Montana would have prepared me for any sort of cold-weather hardship.
But no. See, 8″ was a really hefty snowfall out there — like two feet here. Ice was quite a challenge, but getting through mountains and mountains of flakes like last year never happened in Livingston. Never. Ever. Not even close. And it was a new sort of agonizing. So yeah, -9 degrees, no big deal. But I’ve learned there are ways for winter to be miserable I did not know about.
Besides, a record cold in the middle of a very mild winter is creepy and extreme in itself.