
LONGTIME READERS KNOW one of my regular schticks here is the ode of praise to that rare and precious treat, snow in Seattle.

Yes, I know I could see and play in snow any day from Thanksgiving to Easter (most years) with just a short trek to Snoqualmie Summit. But the whole point of my urban-snow adoration is to have the white stuff here, temporarily reshaping the city’s landscape and its patterns of life and attitude.

Normal life becomes well-nigh impossible. Automotive transportation, the basis of almost all aspects of everyday existence in the western U.S., becomes first risky and then futile.

Throughout the city, children and even adults learn to just forget about whatever they thought was so important and to instead enjoy the evening, the day, the unplanned vacation. The speed and intensity with which ordinary, drudgery-stricken Seattle citizens turn into joyful, heartful, true human beings is truly an astounding thing to behold.

It’s not a raucous, violent energy but a playful one, in which everyone becomes fast friends sharing the spirit of play amid a bright, quiet, serene setting. A city of isolated individuals and families becomes, for one or two days every one or two years, a real community.
So, of course, the local powers that be and their media minions fear and loathe it.
Every winter, the TV newscasts run huge scare-mongering “Snow Alerts” any time there’s even a hint of coldness and precipitation occuring in the Puget Sound basin at the same time. Ninety percent of the time, these alerts prove wrong; leading blow-dried anchorpeople to snicker in “relief” the following evening.
Then, on those rare occasions when snow does fall, and it does stick to the ground, and it does accumulate, the media coverage emphasizes themes of disaster, terror, and major inconveniences.
(One notable exception this time: NorthWest Cable News, which juxtaposed its usual car-crash stories with call-in segments from regional citizens who couldn’t stop saying how beautiful their neighborhoods had become and how much fun they were having.)
But, alas, this momentary interruption of daily drabless with a glimpse of our full potential to live and love is as short-lived as a snowman. And we’re lucky to even have a momentary interruption.
If Seattle had snow more often, or for longer periods of time, the citizenry (and the governments running the region’s street systems) would be better prepared to make car travel, and hence work and everything that goes with it, continue as normal without interference.
Snowstorm 2001 didn’t last for five days like Snowstorm 1990, but it was the biggest, most beautiful Seattle snow in four years. I was out in it until 1:30 Friday morning, because I knew it could start to melt away by midday. Which it did.
But for one exhilarating night and one beautiful day, the city knew what it was like to know play, to know real passion, to know, just for a moment, real life.

NEXT: University Way’s latest crisis.
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