Still Waiting on Winter

It’s an odd thing to find myself wishing for a snowstorm. I’ve always been more of a sun worshiper than a powder bunny. But apparently this is another one of those changes that arrives with age—like reading ingredient labels or carrying more than one jacket “just in case.”

Lately, I’ve developed a real appreciation for all four seasons. Even winter. Especially winter. The real kind.

Despite missing out on a white Christmas—and experiencing “dry January” in more ways than one—I remained confident a proper storm would eventually roll in and correct the situation. This is Bear Lake, after all. Winter always shows up.

Or at least, it usually does.

Now we’re staring down the beginning of March, and even the snow piled under the roofline has dwindled to a decorative sliver. More suggestion than substance. Weekend rain even wiped out what little remained at higher elevations in our view, which felt personal.

This is not the winter we ordered.

The mornings still carry that sharp, cold edge that makes the air feel serious. But winter without snow turns out to be a season with very little to do. It’s cold enough to complain about, but not cold enough to justify it.

Bob is taking partial responsibility. He’s convinced this dry pattern is our fault because we bought cross-country skis this year. Apparently, nothing repels snow faster than optimism and a major equipment purchase.

The skis hang neatly on the garage wall—hopeful, untouched, silently judging us. Same for the snowshoes. We imagined gliding across the golf course, cutting clean tracks through wide white fields.

Instead, the ground can’t decide what month it is. There isn’t enough snow to ski. There’s too much thaw to do much else. Mud season has arrived early and uninvited.

Maybe we’ll get one good storm before it’s officially spring. One last reminder that this really is Bear Lake.

Until then, the skis are ready.

But of course, so are the golf clubs.