I don’t like snow. Really, I don’t. That realization came to me on a snowshoe hike in the mountains in the light of the full moon. I thought: “This would be more fun without all this effing snow.” (And that was before I fell and ruptured a tendon.)
Winter sports are big here in New Mexico. We have lots of mountains and, I am told, some of the best skiing in the country. I know a guy who moved to Santa Fe primarily for the skiing. There’s downhill skiing, snowboarding, cross-country skiing. And snowshoeing, of course. The TV newscast has a ski report every night. My neighborhood mountain, Sandia Peak, boasts the world’s longest tramway to whisk snow fanciers the vertical mile to the top.
My lack of interest in winter sports may be a result of spending most of my life in Chicago. For Chicagoans, skiing entails a long drive to Michigan or Wisconsin for mediocre skiing, or an expensive airplane ride to the Rockies. I could never see the point of spending money to travel from one cold climate to another. It made more sense to board an airplane in the winter if there was a tropical beach at the other end.
As a child I enjoyed playing in the snow as much as the next kid: snow angels, sledding, skating, snowball fights, building snow forts and snowmen, getting a running start to slide as far as possible down an icy sidewalk. The novelty fades, however, when the snow sticks around until April, you have to put on galoshes whenever you venture outside and remember that your mother told you to never eat yellow snow. Spending more time with a shovel than on a sled made snow something to be endured rather than enjoyed.
Snow in Chicago means shoveling the end of your driveway again after the city snowplow pushes the snow back… trudging through ankle-deep slush everywhere … spending an extra hour to drive home in a rush-hour blizzard… hoping the weight of the second fifty-year snow in three years won’t collapse the garage roof. I will confess that I was a little less grumpy about snow once I bought a big, noisy snowblower.
Snow is easier to enjoy in New Mexico because in most parts of the state it’s optional. When snow falls in the mountains by the foot, everyplace else gets a dusting or none at all. My neighbors in Albuquerque do not own snow shovels and snowplows are scarce. While cities like Chicago take snow in stride, the rare equivalent of a heavy Midwestern frost paralyzes Albuquerque. A moderate snowstorm closes the schools and shuts down the Interstate.
For the most part, however, snow in New Mexico is a choice and not a mandatory condition. You can be on a ski slope within an hour’s drive but can be a weather wimp the rest of the time. You can spend the day snowboarding and come home to a dry driveway. If you really, really love snow you can live in the mountains, buy a four-wheel-drive vehicle and savor the adventure of being snowbound. It’s your choice.
That’s one of the reasons I moved here. I enjoy looking out my window to see snow on the mountains but not on my driveway. If there’s snow on my deck in the morning it’s probably going to melt by noon.
I’m looking forward to hiking in the mountains this summer.