The Evil Socks of Spring

On Sunday, March 20, at 11:23 p.m. Universal Time—7:21 p.m. in New Jersey—the vernal equinox occurred, marking the beginning of spring in the northern hemisphere. The next morning, we woke up to a snowstorm, which blanketed our neighborhood with about five inches of snow. This mushy precipitation had the decency to start melting away later on in the day, but the damage to my morale was done. Two days later, another snowstorm rode into town, reducing spring to a bitter and meaningless ruse.

The winter of 2010-11 was an especially grueling one, particularly for those of us who had to do our own snow shoveling. So seeing nature sneer at us on the first day of spring is a bit much. More sneering a few days later is totally unacceptable.

Just in case Mother Nature didn’t know, the “ver” in “vernal” is Latin for spring—not snow. In a show of optimism, many cultures celebrate the spring equinox. Putting a brave foot forward, I have selected two completely random observances that are my favorites. The first is from antiquity, the second is a more recent American tradition.

I'm thinking that winter may have some boundary issues.

Evil Winter
The Zoroastrian holiday of Persian New Year, or Nowruz, is particularly important to me because it involves a mythical king of Persia who saved everyone from a brutal winter that threatened to kill every living creature. This mythical king, Jamshid, constructed a throne studded with gems. He had demons raise him above the earth into the heavens so he could sit on his throne like the sun shining in the sky. The world's creatures gathered in wonder about him, and called this day the New Day or No/Now-Ruz. That said, here’s the important part of the story.

One day, Ahura Mazda, the God of Truth, warned Jamshid of an upcoming catastrophe: "Upon the material world, the evil winters are about to fall, that shall bring the fierce, deadly frost; upon the material world the evil winters are about to fall, that shall make snow-flakes fall thick." Ahura Mazda advised Jamshid to construct a multi-level cavern underground, two miles long and two miles wide. He was to populate this cavern with the fittest of men and women as well as with two of every animal, bird and plant. Food and water was supplied from the previous summer's harvest. Jamshid created a city underground with streets and buildings, and brought nearly two thousand people to live there. He created artificial light, and finally sealed the underground chamber with a golden ring. Thus, he saved at least some of the world from this terrible winter. My hero.

Evil Socks
Perhaps one of the stinkiest spring equinox traditions hails from Maryland. Boatyard employees and sailboat owners there celebrate the spring equinox with the Burning Of The Socks Festival. Traditionally, the boating community wears socks only during the winter. These are joyously burned at the approach of warmer weather. Officially, after this ritual, nobody dons socks until the next equinox.

Nothing says spring like the stench of burning socks.

A bit more recent than Persian New Year, this tradition is said to have begun in the mid 1980s, thanks to a guy named Bob, who managed the Annapolis Yacht Yard. He spent winters working on other people’s boats. At winter's end, his socks were coated with an unappealing mixture of dried varnishes, fiberglass goop and miscellaneous debris. One day, which happened to be the spring equinox, he shed his socks, placed them in a paint-roller tray, carried the tray out to a pier, doused it with lighter fluid and threw in a match. Thus, the hallowed Burning Of The Socks ritual was born.

Over the years, the tradition has expanded up and down the east and west coasts. Apparently, it is a low-key affair. Crowds tend to be small. And a barrel of oysters and a shucking knife were recently added to the festivities. Otherwise, it tends to be a quiet and smelly acknowledgment of impending spring. Only in America.

So what have we learned? Well, the message here is—and I hope you are listening Mother Nature—that spring is the time of year when snow is nothing more than a frosty memory, people who have survived the winter emerge from their caves, and socks are ecstatically burned in commemoration of a guy named Bob. Such is the eternal truth of the vernal equinox, and such is all we need know.

The Tingler and Other Tales of Horror

My husband recently dropped a small box of art pads at work and when he bent to retrieve it, he felt a twinge in his back. Little did he know, this hardly noticeable spasm would eventually become a personal re-enactment of the cheesy science fiction movie, The Tingler. You may recall, that was the movie where creepy centipedes were crawling inside of everyone, created by fear. (Vincent Price discovers they can only be killed by loud screaming.)

Where are maniacal doctors
when you need them?

My testosteroned other half finished his 10-hour work day without event. When he got home that evening, the pain had increased, but was still not that bad. At this point in the movie, discordant music was playing in the background, signaling impending doom. Darkness descended. We went to bed. Then it happened. At 5:30 in the morning, I awoke to hear his blood-curdling screams. Was he trying to kill a Tingler or had he thrown out his back?

His horror soon became mine. Just after his back viciously attacked him, we were hit with another snow storm and I was suddenly left with the lone task of shoveling the walkway and driveway. At 7:30 a.m., I bundled up and stoically trudged out into the blinding white to re-enact my own version of The Thing. That flick took place in Alaska where a DWI alien spacecraft crash landed. Unfortunately, the only way this invader-with-a-bad-haircut could survive was by drinking blood. (Kenneth Toby discovers it can only be killed through electrocution.)

One of my neighbors.

As I laboriously scooped up the thick covering of snow with my aluminum snow shovel, two men—one across the street and another in the yard next to mine—plowed away effortlessly with loud, smelly gasoline snow blowers. Something was wrong with this picture. Neither neighbor felt compelled to help a woman who was fecklessly flinging chunks of snow into tiny replicas of Mt. Everest. Perhaps they were really unfeeling aliens, touching down to tidy up my neighbors' yards. Then the blood-sucking would begin. Time to get the Tazer^®.

As I ran around doing everything inside and outside of the house, my Beloved found solace in painting a model of a World War II Spitfire MK-II fighter plane, surfing the net and shooting off emails to his coworkers and friends. Unable to get up from his chair, he had surrendered to a peaceful existence within the confines of our kitchen. His injury forced him to sit and adopt a remarkably zen convalescence, despite the wriggling creature that was occupying his back.

Meanwhile, I sat bravely staring at the cable weather report, thinking about the blood-sucking aliens that must be lurking outside...waiting. The onslaught of snow was not over. It would return, again and again, plaguing our neighborhood all winter, like meteorological bedbugs.

NOTE: Special thanks to my husband, cheesy movie consultant and faithful, cranky companion.

Nature's Snow Job

It’s snowing again. We had a blizzard the day after Christmas and now we’re getting another four to six inches of snow today. More is expected next week.

Snow was fun when I was a child and it meant a day off from school. Unfortunately, employers do not seem to share that same sense of wonder about snow. They expect employees to slog to their cars, make a suicidal drive to the office and commence working. And don’t be late.

Maybe if I skied, snowboarded, skated or enjoyed ice fishing, snow and cold weather would be a source of joy for me. Alas, I do none of those things, so I just consider it a cold, slippery inconvenience.

Jack Frost has his way with our backyard.

Some people think snow is worthy of study. Did you know that there is a National Snow and Ice Data Center (NSIDC)? It’s part of the Cooperative Institute for Research in Environmental Sciences at the University of Colorado where they get COPIOUS amounts of snow. They study snow, ice, glaciers, frozen ground and climate. They also compile some great snow trivia, and here it is:

• Where are the snowiest cities in the U.S.? New York. Syracuse averages 115 inches of snow per year, and Rochester averages 93 inches per year. Several less populated areas around the country receive much more snow. For instance, Mount Washington, New Hampshire, has an average annual snowfall of 260 inches, and Valdez, Alaska, averages 326 inches annually. That may be why almost nobody lives there.
• Where has the most snow fallen for one storm in the U.S.? Almost 187 inches of snow fell in seven days on Thompson Pass, Alaska, in February 1953. That is serious hot cocoa country.
• How long do snowstorms typically last? Each year an average of 105 snow-producing storms affect the continental U.S. A typical storm will have a snow-producing lifetime of two to five days and will bring snow to portions of several states. Sadly, one of those states is mine.
• Is there any part of the U.S. that has never had a snowfall? Practically every location in the U.S. has seen snowfall. Even most portions of southern Florida have seen a few snow flurries. That is karmic payback for my gloating brother, who lives in Florida and likes to recite the temperatures there when it is freezing up here in New Jersey.
• Does snow serve any purpose aside from being great for winter sports and snow angels? In the western U.S., mountain snow pack contributes up to 75 percent of all year-round surface water supplies. Keep that in mind if you are thinking of writing your name in snow.

The Winter Wonderland takes our two cars captive.

As I write this, I gaze out my window at the wintry white blanketing our walkway and driveway in flaky splendor. A happily sparkling scene of snow that will have to be laboriously shoveled aside before I can hop into my car and drive anywhere.

To my many more optimistic neighbors, snowflakes represent nature’s magnificent artwork, winter recreation or a refreshing change from the other three seasons. With apologies to Al Gore, to me, the white stuff is nothing more than An Inconvenient Trudge.