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Let’s get one thing straight right away, Chuck. I like winter. I like winter a lot. And I think all you Wisconsinites out there complaining about the snow and the cold and the ice and the, um, snow – all of you need to hand in your shiny, cow-shaped Wisconsin membership badges and get the H out. You people should be ashamed of yourselves, nay ultra-ashamed of yourselves. And you should move to some other country where it never gets cold, like Mexico or Egypt or Texas. I love winter, and I can’t stand to have you curse its name. You and all your moms are stupid.

That said, I must admit, the Cool Mistress Winter sure doesn’t make it easy to love her.

It gets kind of gross outside this time of year, and now is when the true Winterites are separated from the poseurs – when the clean snow is separated from the yellow snow, if you catch my drift. (Trust me, it makes sense.)

It gets kind of gross outside this time of year, and now is when the true Winterites are separated from the poseurs – when the clean snow is separated from the yellow snow, if you catch my drift. (Trust me, it makes sense.)

Unless you live smack in the middle of the Snowflake Forest where instead of cars, people travel in silver sleighs pulled by elven-kangaroo hybrids, and instead of rock salt, people keep their sidewalks clear by wishing happy little wishes, you may have noticed that things are getting downright mucky. And this is when one’s love of winter is truly tested.

Here in the city, our snowbanks are stained brown with street grime. Our pant cuffs are stained white with the salty juice of slushy sidewalks. Our shoes and socks and even our dry replacement shoes and socks are soaking wet. Our earmuffs are caked with cat puke.

Maybe that last one’s just me.

At any rate, it’s a challenge to love winter in times like these, letting your loving embrace linger through so much cold and wet. No amount of ice skating and hot chocolate will clean up those snowbanks. No amount of sledding and snow-sculpting will remove all the street salt. And what’s gonna dry out those slushy socks? It’s not like someone’s invented a magical moisture-evaporating machine for clothing.

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It takes the heart of a lion to withstand these annoying conditions for months on end – a lion who grew up near Rice Lake drinking Milwaukee’s Best while playing sheepshead all day in an ice-fishing shack painted green and gold with a set of deer antlers nailed up over the door. And the hearts of lions like that seem hard to come by once February bobsleds in.

Sure, you could just wear a blindfold until the next snowfall and hope enough fluff falls to cover up the filthy, crusty, old stuff – essentially hitting the reset button on your Winter Wonderland. But you can’t count on that. Once the snow stops falling for a week or two, and once the temperatures rise, the pristine sea of glistening snow around us begins to recede, and things appear. Dead leaves, sticks, dog crap, raccoon carcasses. Dark things emerge like oozing zombies, pulling themselves up from shallow graves to seek you out, latch on, crack open you skull, and lick out your brains with their rotting tongues ... or, you know, make everything look all scuzzy.

But even if it snows again, and all the debris gets covered up, there’s a whole different set of frustrations to deal with. For example, you’d think once we get past January, people would be accustomed to driving their automobiles in snowy conditions. This is not true, as people seem to remain stubbornly dumb about how to navigate an unplowed road. It’s as if, upon the first snowflakes falling past their windshields, people declare to themselves, “Holy crap, it’s snowing! All bets are off!” and they drive in ways no sane person would. People drive down the middle of the street, they drive through red lights, and they park at crazy angles. I’ve seen people leave a parking lot by driving over a sidewalk and off a curb just because six inches of snow fell the night before – while the normal exit is completely usable.

People, a snowstorm is not a license to drive like a freaked out, paranoid spider monkey jacked up on Red Bull. Follow the normal traffic laws. It’s not like the people who designed them didn’t factor in winter weather.

So, yeah, it’s hard to keep my passion for winter burning during the long stretches of the season (and this is coming from a guy whose employer maintains a decidedly pro-winter agenda). But somehow, I manage to do it year after year. Somehow, I accept the dirty snow. I keep my feet dry. I wash the salt off of everything. And I focus on the parts I like.

Now that February is here, I wish you luck, fine people of the Chippewa Valley. We’re all in this together – all of our wet socks are in this together.