Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

It’s quiet out there now. The literal calm before the storm.

Later today, Seattle is set to receive a buttload of snow, so I went out to provision our larder for an expected week of housebound activity (though I don’t think I got enough wine). The experience perfectly illustrated Seattle’s love/hate relationship with the white stuff.

In the shops, everyone was pleasant and accommodating. There were smiles and nods, pleases and thank yous. Shoppers with carts filled high enough to look like they were ready to head down the Oregon Trail generously let those with just a few items go ahead in the checkout lines. The usual demolition derby of jam-packed trolleys jockeying for access took on the air of a ballet, a choreographed dance of forward, back, to the side, as we maneuvered around one another. Our checker summed it up: “Yeah, it’s been swamped all day, but everyone is being so nice!” For each of us, our inner child was gleeful at the prospect of walking in the snow, hearing that sound, that “squeeze the box of corn starch” sound, when we trudge to . . . nowhere in particular, just enjoying the hush, the cold, and the beauty of it all.

On the roads, though, it was a different story. Horns didn’t toot; they blared. Blinkers (underused even on the best of days) were completely forgotten. Lane changes were abrupt, as if designed to evoke the greatest possible surge of adrenaline. Traffic was heavier than normal, too, as we were all out there, trying to gather our acorns and make it back to the nest before the meteorological End of Days begins.

Readers from colder climes will scoff at this sort of hyperbole. You deal with drifts and whiteouts and snow on the streets for months, and we seem like a bunch of citified snowflakes (pun intended) who can’t steer our way out of an icy skid. I get that. My stepmom’s family was from the Iron Range in Minnesota, and every year we sat through stories of apocalyptic cold, tunnels dug through the snow to get from the front door to the curb, and conditions so harsh that only true pioneers, men and women of hardy immigrant stock, had even a hope of making it back from a trip to the mailbox.

For you folks, no amount of “It’s different here” will move the needle. Understandably.

But it is different here.

First, we don’t know what we’re doing. Seriously. In Seattle, there are the folks who know they know nothing about getting around in the snow, and there are folks who think they know something about how to get around in the snow. It’s the second group that makes Seattle a wintry hell every time there’s even a dusting on the streets. They climb into their jacked-up 4x4s with the oversized studded tires and barrel down ice-clad streets with all the perceived immortality of a teenager who just got his license. They place utter faith in their all-wheel drive and the tiny tacks in their tread, and ride up on the tailgate of more timorous drivers. And it’s these folks who end up sliding their way into the intersection and getting a crash course in physics (again, pun intended).

Second, when it snows in Seattle, it doesn’t get cold first. You see, when it’s cold before it snows, the streets are frozen and the snow just accumulates as snow, thus providing a base that chains or studs can grip. In Seattle, it usually starts snowing at around 35°F, and when the snow hits the streets, it melts. Then it gets cold, and that melted snow freezes into ice, and then we put snow on top of that. So, when Seattle says there’s an inch of snow on the streets, it’s really an inch of snow over a sheet of ice. And when the temps pop back up above freezing and then drop back down again, it’s an additional layer of ice. Vicious cycle. Recipe for disaster.

And third, Seattle has hills. Steep hills. Lots of them. Our most infamous is Queen Anne Hill (video below, from 2012), but Seattle was built on seven similar hills (including one that was called “Profanity Hill,” because of the steepness of the climb). In my neighborhood we have one block that shuts down every time there’s even a flake on the streets, becoming our go-to street for sledding.

So, with temps currently in the mid-30s and a ton of cold moisture barreling down the Fraser River Valley, Seattleites are ready to fasten our seat belts; it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

k