The bread shelves and milk coolers at all the stores in my area are bare. Yep, that’s what happens in the South when a potential “weather event” is predicted. Be it a hurricane, potential for snow (a dusting or a foot), or help me now, an ice storm, we Southerners get all a flutter.
We can not help it, the slight mention of a weather event and our lives just revolve around what we are going to do if IT hits.
I have actually learned to embrace it and find humor in the chaos at the Wal-Mart. And, chaos it is. I overhear people mumbling because the store was not properly stocked in preparation of the storm. Whispers that there is a conspiracy between the grocery industry and The Weather Channel. Bribing over the last gallon of milk. Mercy!
Now, I went to the store yesterday because milk and bread were on my list for the week to get anyway, really.
And, the ice has arrived.
My mother is a Weather Channel addict. You can call her at any time at her home in Mississippi and she will tell you the weather forecast for each place that her children and grandchildren live. She can not help it, bless her heart. It is in our genetics.
Honey, Southerners are glued to the local news and the Weather Channel, we love the drama of how they build up the “weather event”. We love to brag about Jim Cantore coming to our town.
We are always so relieved when they finally name the storm, it is like monogramming everything, we need to show possession of the event. How are you going to toast the storm if it does not have a name, no, that will just not do. Cheers Cleon!
Trees starting to bend, noooooo!!
Driving in this mess? No sir, I stay put. But, I have it figured out, if you HAVE to go somewhere, look for the closest Yankee. If no Yankee is available, you could settle for someone whose mama was a Yankee. Sweet mercy, if all else fails and you have not made it to fight over the last loaf of Sunbeam or to the festive drink store, at least listen to someone who once drove in the snow UP NORTH.
Men like my husband live for this kind of potential event. They love the adventure of it all. They get to prepare and plan, then swoop in and save the day.
Or, the road through the park. No, even though most of the South shuts down, our park doesn’t. We are hospitable like that. Of course, the white stuff adds to the ambiance of your stay on the mountain.
Train them up, yep, Littlest Buckaroo helped remove a tree that fell across the highway so locals could get through and so tourists could get to the Lodge. Lord, I hope they are Yankees. Or, Yankees driving their Southern friends. It is a mess out there.
Little Buckaroo found a heart snowball to throw at his brother. Oh, the love. I told him to be careful chasing his brother because the road was treacherous. Yes, I just wanted to use the word treacherous, that is why I took them out in the sleet to check on the park. Go ahead and say it, treacherous. Fun huh?
Now, run outside with a ruler and measure how much snow you have.
Then, call all your friends and family to compare snowfall amounts. Of course, you will need to double your measurement.
If Uncle Bubba claims to have more snow, insist that the figure you gave was from the backyard and claim the front yard is even deeper.
Yes, that is what we do in the South.
And, I would not want to be anywhere else (unless we lose power, then bring in the snowplows and get me, thanks).
The Park Wife