THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, February 12, 1995 TAG: 9502100254
SECTION: CAROLINA COAST PAGE: 04 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Editorial
SOURCE: Ron Speer
LENGTH: Medium: 75 lines
The murder trial of the century was heating up. An earthquake rocked South America. Oprah had some weird guests. On talk radio, Rush was on a roll.
Lots of big things were happening in the North Carolina General Assembly. Congress was scrambling to do something about the nominee for surgeon general. The President was playing hardball trying to restore the national pastime.
So what was the hottest topic around the Albemarle last week?
The weather.
More specifically, the unexpected snow that turned our world white.
Everybody I met was talking about the weather.
In the grocery store. At the restaurant. In the salon - and the saloon. On the streets. Over backyard fences. On the beaches. High up on Jockey's Ridge. And down on the waterfront in Edenton.
The weather turns a taciturn recluse into a a woman of words. It makes instant friends out of total strangers.
A snowstorm like the one that turned the landscape into a portrait in white Wednesday converts stodgy old folks into kids - and cautious kids into daredevils.
Normally mean motorists become knights of the road. Snarly clerks suddenly are warm-hearted. People who look like they were born wearing a three-piece suit surprise themselves when they fire back a snowball at a lurking attacker.
Prim and proper people build magnificently endowed snowwomen. Busy dads take time out to walk through the woods with their children, following animal tracks.
Working mothers stay home to tend the offspring when classes are canceled - and the day can be a bonus for both mom and moppet.
Teenagers who hang out for hours in good weather doing absolutely nothing but infuriating their elders grab brooms and sweep the snow off sidewalks around a widow's home.
The most paranoid of drivers pick up hitchhikers. Coffee drinkers who usually sneer at hot chocolate discover why they loved cocoa as a kid.
A bowl of Navy bean soup sprinkled with ham and onions becomes a meal fit for a queen.
The classroom woodenhead in the block turns out to be a terribly creative kid in a snowstorm, converting surf boogie boards into makeshift sleds in an area where nobody has Flexible Flyers.
Whole blocks of neighbors happily compete for ``snowman of the storm'' honors, erecting sculptures that happily melt before they become permanent eyesores.
Most everybody grabs a camera and shoots rolls of film - and then we wonder why our pictures don't look at all like those taken by Drew Wilson.
Transplanted northerners complain that natives don't know how to drive in snow or on ice - but North Carolina licenses aren't the only tags you see on cars stuck in ditches.
Wise Outer Bankers who rarely deal with snow and ice rely on the experience of others to help them through a storm. A friend traced his stocking feet on cardboard, cut out the shapes and stuffed them in rubber boots to make them warmer.
``Read about it in a book,'' he explained.
Regardless of where we get our knowledge, most folks adapt quickly to the weather.
And generally, we're all a little nicer to our fellow man during challenges thrown at us by Nature.
I imagine every one of us has a special story of neighborliness or adaptability that we'll remember as the highlight of the Snow of '95.
And I wonder - as I go back to driving hardheartedly past hitchhikers or not even nodding to strangers on the street - why disaster brings out the best in us.
Whatever the reason, man's humanity to man takes the sting out of snowstorms.
I wouldn't mind if it stormed again tonight. by CNB