Life in Maine

March, of course, comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. As I look out the window, I am watching the furry, little lamb of March prance around in the form of yet another snowstorm. But let's back up for a moment to when March was behaving as it was supposed to - back to the first week when the "lion" roared mightily. Or, rather, that is what the weather people desperately wanted us to believe.

To those of us on the east coast, it was billed as the "storm of the century," a moniker that holds a lot less reverence since, depending on your point of view, the century is either just a few months old or just over a year old. Weather fronts were threatening to collide. Big time. Lots of snow. Guaranteed. Hide the children. Run for your lives.

The "storm of the century" hype was a bit subdued up here to start. Early on, the meteorologists were guessing that the storm was going to stay south of us here in what is collectively known as "Northern New England." While panic was being dished out in bucket fulls in New York and Boston, we were told to expect a very uneventful 2 to 4 inches of snow from the storm. So we got to sit back, relax, and shake our heads in disbelief as the national newscasts braced themselves for nature's gridlock in the media center of the free world. Schools in New York and New Jersey were already being called off, even though the storm wasn't expected for a few days. Trucks were banned from the New Jersey turnpike before a single flake was flying. Store shelves were being cleared by frightened citizenry. Amidst this mass hysteria to the south of us, we sat back smugly, commenting among ourselves that "they sure don't know how to handle winter."

Then, as the anointed hour approached for "king storm" to bear down on our brethren to the south, the tone of the weather people started to change up here. The "2 to 4" inches prediction slowly, but steadily, started to inch upwards. We went about our work, keeping an eye half-cocked on the weather report. When predictions started edging into the 5 to 8 inch range, school kids once again started dreaming of a day off of school - as if they hadn't had their share of them already this winter. But, of course, when you're a kid (or a teacher, I suppose), there is no such thing as too many snow days.

We went to sleep with the promise of a moderate snow storm to come the next afternoon. When we awoke, "panic central" had made it's way north. Depending on which radio or TV station you listened to, we were on tap for anywhere from 12 to 30 inches of snow - or maybe even more. Then words like "blizzard" started appearing. As a snow lover and one who generally enjoys inclement weather in general, this change in events was welcome and exciting news. "I hope we get clobbered," I said to no one in particular. And, indeed, that seemed to be the sentiment of just about everyone I ran into. Up to now, it had been a long, hard, snowy winter and we were all toughened up to the point where more snow was, well, just more snow. We can take it. Bring it on!

And so, unlike our brethren to the south, we went about our lives and waited for the storm to approach, secure in the fact that we could deal with whatever it turned out to be. Being prone to power outages during storms, we took the usual precautions of filling up the bathtub and water bottles and getting the fireplace ready. But other than that, we made no storm preparations in particular.

And so we waited. Snow would start around noon time, "they" said. It didn't. The storm was moving slower than expected, the snow would start later in the evening. It didn't. The snow would move in fast and furious after midnight, they said. Blizzard warning. Tie yourselves down.

We woke up to snow. Not 12 inches of snow, or 30 inches of snow, or even 3 inches of snow. The storm was moving slower than expected, they continued to say. But it would still come. Blizzard warning.

And it continued to snow. Lightly. And the winds blew. Heavily. And, technically, it qualified as a blizzard. And by the time it was all over, we got around eight inches of fresh snow here on the coast. Inland, they barely got a couple of inches. And we went about our lives. In New Jersey, the Governor was calling for the heads of the weather forecasters. Here, we plowed and shoveled and added to our already tall snow piles and expressed disappointment in the fact that we weren't clobbered. The meteorological adrenaline rush was over, leaving us unfulfilled.

And once again we learned the lesson that we never quite seem to fully grasp. The weather is what is happening outside your door - no more, no less.

As has been typical this winter, as soon as one storm has pushed off to sea, another one seems to be brewing and pushing east towards us. And so it was later in the week of "the storm of the century." Only this time, it was never predicted to have much effect on the southern New England states. Boston would be spared. New York would be spared. The populous was safe.

And so we once again went about our day-to-day business. And the weather people, perhaps humbled by their performance earlier in the week, spoke softly of the new storm. There would be snow. Perhaps even 4 to 8 inches. Nothing to get worried about. It might even go out to sea. Relax. All is well.

And so we went to sleep Friday night, secure in the knowledge that Mother Nature would treat us gently.

And when we awoke, the world was whiter than it was the night before. Much, much whiter - and getting whiter still. And by early afternoon, the "4 to 8" inches measured 14 inches. And we plowed and shoveled and added to our very, very tall snow piles. And we wondered if we would ever again see the bare ground.

And now it is April. And we're still wondering.

The Storm that Wasn't, The Storm that Was