Trinidad and Toboggan

 

When those first flurries appear in the sky, miniature, floating stars of Bethlehem, everyone has their own recreational preference. Amazingly, we all instinctively know what to do. Will this be the year I fill my freezer with well-rounded snowballs setting up my unsuspecting friends for an icy summer surprise? I think so. Some blizzard junkies race to the get the sled out of storage, clearing their dining table for an all-night eggnog-fueled waxing session. But you can rub as much oil as you want to and it won’t change a thing – cheap plastic sleds will always outpace their glamorous wooden counterparts. Others immediately start shoveling regardless of the accumulation, succumbing to their own strain of mental illness that says, “even a dusting must be eradicated.” And yes, there are odd souls who maintain that a snowman isn’t a snowman unless it’s anatomically correct from twig toes to carrot nose. But they are dwindling with each light winter. 

Yet afterwards, when everything's cleared or melted, the talk becomes strangely plaintive, as people wonder, “is this is the last big storm before the planet fulfills Jerry Lee Lewis’s prophetic vision and actually becomes a great ball of fire?” There’s a mournful quality to this snowy conversation. People are concerned for their children and their children's children. 

But I don’t see why this has to be. When I drive through the Catskills, the Berkshires or the rural enclaves of New Jersey, I see ski slope after ski slope. This isn’t the Alps or the Western giants. Still, each place has a trick or two when the weather doesn’t cooperate to produce a white blanket of snow for downhill maniacs. That’s right, even at the most mediocre mountain, people are manufacturing snow. If politicians were serious about creating jobs and stimulating the economy, they wouldn't ignore this frozen industry of untapped resources.

We must do more. When I want a few inches on my block, do I care if it comes from the sky or from some mobbed up snow factory in Staten? Because I shouldn’t. There’s obviously nothing to this technology and it ought to be distributed more widely. So the good people living near the equator can experience true whiteout conditions. Snow doesn’t have to be a thing of the past. Too many Floridians have forgotten what it’s like to shovel a driveway. Together, we can change that.  

Make it snow.