If You Make It To Washington’s Birthday…
Company Culture, High Technology Posted Feb 14, 2017 by chenpr
I thought we’d sneaked past Old Man Winter this year. Again.
Sure, there were a few storms that had inconvenienced Eastern Massachusetts this year, but in early February out my way some intrepid syrupers already had their maple trees tapped and their sap lines running. Apart from the usual shady spots the snow was mostly gone. Heck, I spent a few January weekends in the yard getting a jump on my spring raking as well as clearing some brush and adding to the pile that I will gleefully burn in a few weeks.
As much as I loathe winter I regard it as the price that must be paid to fully appreciate May and June in New England. I’m an angler, after all, and when I finally put my tackle away sometime after Thanksgiving, I spend the next four months pouting.
This year, like last, I’d been wearing a bit of a smirk; it was as if I was getting away with something.
The ponds out my way hadn’t yet frozen completely over. The long-term forecast was promising. I was planning an early May excursion to Northern Maine and it looked like I’d be able to get a lot of practice in before setting out.
Then the last week happened. Seven days, three storms, two feet. Curses!
Objectively it’s not that big of a deal. We were just a few days past the anniversary of the Blizzard of ’78 and I survived that historic slug of snow, as well as our worst winter ever just two years ago. I wasn’t going to let a couple rinky-dink storms bother me.
In fact, while I was out shoveling and clearing paths this morning I realized how lucky I am. Back in ’78 there was no such thing as telecommuting. People had jobs to get to and whether they punched a clock or drew a salary they were expected to be at their place of employment on time. I merely logged in, sent an email to my fellow CHENers and gave them a heads-up that I’d be working from home… just as soon as I was back inside from my snow-clearing duties.
Not long after I finished the sun broke out and started working on the spots of bare pavement I’d managed to scrape down to, getting to its melting work. My friend John tells of his Grandmother Honeybee’s belief that if you made it to Washington’s Birthday, you’d made it past winter.
We’re nearly there. And I’m still smirking.