This MBOB has a word picture about January thaws, a true story from the 1950s and a book recommendation.
It’s a Sunday afternoon in eastern Montana in the 1950s. It’s been bitterly cold for a long time, but the blizzard has finally moved on. The main roads have been plowed and things look like they might be settling back to normal for the season. While the temperature is still hovering around zero (F) every night, at least the everlasting wind has stopped.
When it’s dead quiet on the prairie after a storm and it’s really cold, everything crunches.
Every step crunches – sharply – boots squeaking against the surface of the tile-hard snow put in place by just slightly-less-than-hurricane-force winds, which then polished it smooth.
A glance out the frosted kitchen window reveals diamonds spread as far as the eye can see. A million facets of frigid, glittering carats.
The triangle of frost on every pane of glass documents the escape of precious heat but we didn’t know that. We just knew Jack Frost had paid a visit and had left spectacularly detailed art for our viewing pleasure.
By the time we were five or so, we knew not to touch the windows when Jack Frost had come, but just watch the kaleidoscopic beauty of each square of glass change over the hours. The frost was usually gone by evening and if we didn’t touch the window, it departed quietly and left clean glass behind. If we couldn’t resist and had touched the window there was a little fingerprint at every point of contact meaning that the windows had to be cleaned in the dead of the winter. Moms were happier if they didn’t have to do that job over and over again. (more…)