What did the groundhog say anyway?

Selena Lane | Staff Columnist

It’s beautiful out. The sweet science of precipitation has turned our campus into a gently tumbled snow globe, complete with Olin Library as the focal centerpiece. Walking to class, the snow falls thick around us, the flakes the size of Mardi Gras confetti. As we sit cozily pouring over textbooks in our study room of choice, the cold swirls outside the walls, but without the threat of numbing our noses. It is lovely. A winter dream.

And I’m really bitter about it.

Excuse me. Where was this wonderland two months ago during the holiday season? Oh, sure, the sky sputters out a few dismal flurries during finals, but it waits until we are all thoroughly sick of winter to send us the real stuff. We were anxiously biting our lips after Thanksgiving in anticipation of a nice snowfall, but we all just started to want some tulips after New Year’s. Way to go, clouds. You’re a little late. “I’m Dreaming of a White Washington’s Birthday” isn’t a song for a reason, maybe for a couple of reasons.

Listen, I’m not anti-snow. I kind of adore it actually. I find myself tapping my chin thoughtfully as to when the only benefit of snow became its beauty. I think we can all dig into the depths of our memory and reproduce the dusty phrase “snow day.” Ah, it has such a ring to it. Too bad it’s totally non-existent on a college campus. I keep eagerly checking my e-mail at 7 a.m. to read the words “class cancelled,” but I’ve had no such luck. It’s either true that professors really do live in their classrooms round the clock, or they’ve just traded their Toyotas in for Arctic Cats. That’s a snowmobile, for those of you who are uneducated in winter vehicles. In any case, while Wydown Middle School enjoys a frosty day off, we all bear the cold to make it to our 10 a.m. classes. Is anything so unfair?

Yes. Everything else that was great about snow has now been stripped from our collegiate winters. In the past four days, I’ve gotten three group texts inviting me to go sledding on Art Hill—all of which were soon regretfully “postponed” (a.k.a. the plans kicked the bucket) because so-and-so is too tired and so-and-so’s friend has to write a paper. Think about the times when we all played in the snow when we were young. If you take away the snow day, you take away the fun. Not to mention the fact that none of us really have the resources to comfortably go sledding. I brought a cowboy hat to school in case of a themed frat party, but, alas, my snow pants remain in my basement back home.

Maybe it’s past the ideal time for a snowy vista, maybe we all still have to drag ourselves to main campus in the mornings, maybe we’re all too buried in our work and extracurriculars to actually bring back the kids in us, but hey—it is beautiful out. So the least we can do is just thank our lucky stars it hasn’t turned to slush yet, and realize that this way there’s at least a chance of an impromptu snowball fight on Brookings some unexpected afternoon.

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