Howdy, Folks!
This letter is intended for y'all living down south, in places like Florida, Mississippi, Georgia, and Texas — apologies if I missed any of y'all — from your buddy living in central Wisconsin, who wants to chime in.
I hear you complaining about your brutal winters, when the thermometer dips to a frosty 25ºF. Bless your hearts, as y'all might say.
You bundle up, wearing parkas for what we'd call a lovely spring day up here. I hate to share truth with y'all, but let me tell you: If you think that's cold, you have another think coming.
I'm talking real cold, the kind that bites back, freezes your eyelashes, turning every chore into a survival test. Please pull up a chair (hopefully nothing too frozen), and let's break this down. You're about to read some hard truths — as well as some not quite so traumatic, because why not? Winter up here isn't a joke, but we Wisconsinites have learned to chuckle through the shivers.
First off, you southerners love to brag about your fleeting chills, but our cold is like a grumpy old uncle who overstays his welcome. Imagine stepping outside and feeling as though an invisible ice giant has slapped you. To us, that's a typical Monday in January.
You might think putting on a sweater when it plummets to 50ºF is tough, but try scraping a half-inch of ice off your windshield with a credit card because your scraper snapped in half, because the cold up here makes plastic as brittle as a dry cracker. One wrong twist, and BOOM! One of our favorite tools is in multiple pieces. We don't simply deal with the frost; we fight it like it's personal.
Speaking of battles, let's talk cars. You hop into your ride after a really "cold" night, and the car starts right away, without any fuss. Lucky you.
Up here in the great white north, frozen car seats greet us like a slab of marble straight from the freezer. Sitting down is like slamming our backside onto an ice rink. And don't get me started on the stick shift (I have a manual transmission), and I need to wiggle it back and forth like I'm coaxing a stubborn mule just to move it to first gear. The cold thickens the fluids, transforming everything so it's stiff and uncooperative.
Oh, and the brakes? I need to pump them gently at first to warm 'em up, or else they may lock and send me sliding. I'm not describing anything dramatic; it's just daily life when the temperature hits -20 ºF.
You folks complain about humidity making your hair frizzy when it's hot, but our cold turns our breath into a personal fog machine. Exhale while outside, and POOF! I'm a dragon. Try that in your balmy winters; at worst, it looks as though you're simply vaping. Up here, visible breath isn't cute when it's indoors because my heater conked out from the extreme cold.
We have to ensure everything is insulated up here, or our pipes will burst, flooding the basement with ice water. Good times.
Want another small but real kicker? Daily items turn against us, like a rain gauge. Down there in the south, you leave those out year-round to measure your quaint afternoon showers. Up here, we flip the gauge upside down in winter. Why? Because when water collects in them and then freezes, it expands, cracking the bloody thing wide open.
Plastic, glass, and metal all hate the deep freeze. Cold shrinks material, making it fragile. Our phone cases could shatter if we drop them outside, or a door handle could snap off in our hand.
We learn the hard way: Protect our stuff, or pay the price.
Planting my tongue firmly in cheek, I say, let's compare wardrobes. When the thermometer hits 40º, and you call it boot weather, that's adorable. We layer up like onions: thermals, flannel, wool socks, and a coat that could double as a sleeping bag.
Hats are mandatory up here, unless we want our ears to feel like they're about to fall off. But here's the truth: Frostbite is no myth. Exposed skin can freeze in minutes when wind chills drop to -40º. We take care of our own, checking on neighbors, especially the elderly, because the cold kills if we're not prepared.
I once had to walk three blocks in the winter of 1996, and the tips of my ears were frostbitten, even though I was wearing a stocking cap that fit over them. That may not sound too harsh, but I was so cold that I considered knocking on doors to explain the situation and hopefully be let in.
To warm yourselves up, you southerners might sip hot chocolate near a fire pit on your "chilly" nights. But our cold? It demands respect.
If we need to go outside, we experience our nose hair freezing, when we inhale and feel teeny, tiny icicles inside our nostrils. I know — it's weird. It's uncomfortable and also a sign to get our arse inside.
How about shoveling snow that's heavier than wet cement because it froze last night? Our backs ache, but skip it and we're trapped in our own driveways until spring.
Oh, and don't get me started on a cold toilet seat. As much as we may prepare, when our skin touches the seat, we clench up in a sitting fetal position, eyes wide open, our breath caught in our mouth, dealing with a shocking physical reaction we have no control over.
Please, don't get me wrong — I envy your beaches and barbecues. But the next time you begin shivering at 55º, remember us up north, hey? We're the ones who chug through snowdrifts taller than a toddler to plug in our engine blocks so our cars don't turn into giant paperweights. And yes, we might grumble, but we tough it out with cheese curds and a good laugh.
So, my southern friends, if you ever visit Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, or the Dakotas in winter, bring your sense of humor, extra layers, seal-skin coats, electric heating socks, and hand warmers — you just might learn what real cold feels like. (For the record, I own three pairs of electric heating socks because my feet get REALLY cold, especially in winter.)
Until then, stay warm in your "freezing" paradise.
As always, the man(ney) who lives in the frozen tundra,
David Manney
A cold person among many up north, hoser.
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