I fear for the freshmen, I really do.
I fear that they have accepted this term's weather as the norm for a Dartmouth Winter.
I feel a bit like an old lady talking to my grandkids about my six-mile walks to school through blizzards and ice storms that they just "couldn't understand".
But sometimes being a senior feels like being an old lady (too bad I can't get a double discount -- senior citizen and student -- at the movies). And I want to make sure the younguns around here "get it". (Note: I'm really only saying this because I'm jealous that you have three more years here.)
As much as I hate the cold and I hate the salt on my pants, the Dartmouth Winter is something every Dartmouth student must embrace. It's a source of pride that gives us a leg up on any non-Vermont/non-New Hampshire/non-Canadian student's college experience.
I fear that the freshmen are walking around saying that we (in the older-than-freshmen sense) have been over-exaggerating the winters of yore. I didn't believe Papa Hauteness '72 when he told me about his frost-bitten college days of naively arriving at Dartmouth from California with only a jean jacket.
I stubbornly refused to buy coats based on warmth and went just for style. But then I got here and learned. Style means nothing when you have to wrap yourself head-to-toe in as many layers as possible. When it's legitimately cold here, no one outside has any idea who anyone else is. There's something special about that.
But now, we seem to have lost the glory that once was.
For one, there is no snow on the Green. As much as I secretly enjoy the fact that we won't have to deal with the nasty swamp of melted snow come springtime, I'm devastated to know that my last winter up here has been virtually snowless.
As impressive as it was that Dartmouth students were slaving away day and night to make a snow sculpture in 52 degree weather, I think it would've been much cooler for this year to be The Year the Snow Sculpture Never Was. At least we'd be acknowledging the bizarro weather rather than denying it and pretending it was normal. And we wouldn't be walking by that strange blob of dirty snow that is the unfortunate aftermath of this year's snow sculpture.
But I guess a tradition's a tradition. As we know, Dartmouth is a place that values traditions. And just as Dartmouth Winters are a tradition, so are the sculptures.
The thing is, I used to experience a small bit of pleasure in seeing heads bob across a tundra-like snow-covered Green. I used to brag to my high school friends about the treacherous arctic winters I was voluntarily suffering through. That was Dartmouth, and it was mine.
I can count the number of times on my hand that I have had to scrape snow off my windshield this year. As much as I hate de-icing my car, it's something I have come to accept as normal.
This term, rarely has the weather legitimately been "bitter cold." The temperature has gone below zero maybe once. And there have been no weather alerts about "extremely dangerous wind chill" or anything of the sort. I miss the WeatherBug chirp that I used to hate.
I have observed no one doing The Waddle, the penguin-like walk that only comes out in very, very cold weather: lean forward, look down, and shuffle feet as fast as possible.
I have not once experienced frozen eyelashes this year. Mascara never used to be a winter makeup option.
I have also not had the need to bring out The Scarf, the 6-foot behemoth that I use to mummify myself in only the most dire of circumstances.
I miss The Scarf and The Waddle. And I even sort of miss frozen eyelashes.
Only twice have I wiped out on ice patches. And only once have I had the pleasure of watching student after student bite it one after the other on the exact same spot on the Green.
One of the great joys of Dartmouth Winters is the sick pleasure of sitting by a window in Collis and watching student after student fall on the exact same slippery spot outside -- where you too bit it just an hour before.
I miss the cold more than I thought I would. And I miss the snow even more.
I miss my Dartmouth Winter. But, more than anything else, I miss the last three years.
Winters here seem long, but in retrospect they really fly by.
I guess that's what makes them so special and what makes the freezing cold, the mounds of snow and impossible salt stains all worth the pain.
Freshmen: When the real Dartmouth Winter returns, don't say we didn't tell you so. Stop wearing mascara. Get one of those behemoth scarves. And embrace The Waddle in all its glory.
