Jill's Journal: Cold is, well, COLD!
I’m a wimp when it comes to tundra-like temperatures combined with those (in)famous South Dakota winds.
And guess what, Old Man Winter is already knocking on the door.
Last week, I had the “privilege” to take in our fair city’s “Tree City USA” annual tree planting, which also doubles as our town’s Arbor Day recognition event. This year, a variety of eight trees went in the ground at the public “rest area” situated along Holly Boulevard. (For those who can’t picture it, it’s the park-like space outfitted with benches located a head turn to the west just a hop, skip and a jump north of the water tower.)
It was windy and cold last Tuesday. Plenty cold and windy, and I surely wasn’t dressed for the occasion, as they say. The usual suspects were there: Devin Coughlin, our city parks supervisor and offspring of the town’s treasured longtime nursery owners, Mike and Robin, a handful of city councilpersons (rest assured, not enough for a quorum – trust me, I checked), John Murawski, representing Modern Woodmen, which covered the cost of the trees that were purchased from Oakridge at of course, a friendly hometown discounted price, and a half-dozen or so youngsters representing the Lion Den from Brandon-based Cub Scout Pack 582.
The cold, as you would expect, didn’t seem to faze the kids a bit. They ran around, chasing one another here and there and took part in planting one of the eight trees under Devin’s supervision. They shoveled dirt into the hole around the base of the tree and then packed it with shovel handles and their tiny feet for good measure.
I and the other adults on hand, with the exception of the always hard-working Devin, stood around, watched the buzzing activity before us while doing our best to keep the blood circulating through our veins.
By the time festivities had wrapped up, my feet were frozen. To be honest, they actually hurt a little as I gingerly walked back to my car in anticipation of flipping the heater button on high. Yeah, I’m a wimp.
In mid-winter, I cringe every time I see a kid in a t-shirt, shorts and flip flops comfortably parade into the school without a wince. And I’ve seen that a lot over the years.
How do they do that?
I, on the other hand, am usually bundled up from head to toe – layers of clothing, boots, mittens and a coat (what a concept to brave Midwestern winters!), and darned if I’m still not COLD walking from the parking lot to the school building and back again.
Last week, it took me hours to warm up from the tree-planting experience. The minute I walked in the door, I turned up the thermostat to the WARM IT UP AS SOON AS POSSIBLE mark, put on a few layers and took refuge on my couch under a couple of blankets. I’m pretty sure it was about 9:30 that my body had finally returned to its menopausal heat status.
At 56, I surely realize that I live in a four-season climate. I’m pretty much a big fan of three of those four seasons, and I’m guessing you know which season I’d happily toss out if forced to give one of them up. But of course, that’s not an option. So, I’ll do what I’ve done every year for more than a half-century: Turn up the thermostate and dress in layers, bundle up with coats, boots, hats and mittens, and grumble about the cold like a wimpy ol’ lady who’s well, COLD.
