Every winter I slide into my Texas drawl and start whining about the snow and the ridiculously cold New Hampshire temperatures. I find myself longing for tumbleweeds, mesquite and the plains of West Texas.
My mother, who grew up in New England, tried to warn me about the cold. I figured that I could take it. Back home, cold is 32 degrees. Anything below freezing is intolerable. Now that's a climate. So when she said, "Dani, it's really cold up there," I thought -- no problem. I'll just wear gloves. And then it happened: winter.
For some of the other displaced Southerners (especially any '00's), I thought I would offer a few hints for surviving the winter:
1) Wear a coat. You might think you can run to Kiewit in just a sweater, but it's not going to cut it. I know you never had to wear a warm coat at home, but this is New Hampshire.
2) Get a hat. This is something that I have finally acknowledged this year. After three years of freezing, I realized that a silly looking hat is a lot better than frostbitten ears. And you will save yourself the trouble of listening to those people who run around campus saying, "You know, you lose 60 percent of your body heat through your head." Vanity is not a word in the winter vocabulary.
3) Turtlenecks and scarves. Growing up below the Mason-Dixon line, you might think that turtlenecks and scarves are fashion statements. This is simply not true.
Believe it or not, these articles of clothing were actually created for their functionality. They will keep snow from falling down your shirt and help you retain your body heat.
4) Layers. Remember those days when you had to watch the weather anxiously awaiting a day cold enough to wear a sweater? And if it was cold enough for a sweater you wondered, could you wear a turtleneck too? New Hampshire has taken those worries right out of your life. You can wear about four layers every day and be just fine.
5) Shoes. This is perhaps one of the most important things to remember. Not only do you need warm shoes, you also need shoes with sturdy soles. One unfortunate day freshman year I ventured out in some flimsy shoes with porous rubber soles. This was a bad idea. Ice formed on the bottom of my shoes and I fell repeatedly as I left morning drill class in Dartmouth Hall.
6) Slipping. When you do fall, don't let it traumatize you. Everybody falls (if they say they haven't, they are lying). Take a second, compose yourself, and get up when you are ready. If you try to get up right away, you might just fall again (trust me on this one). If you are from the South, you can beg ignorance anyway.
7) Games. Making a snow angel might look fun, but for those of you who have never experienced snow before, you have to realize one important thing: snow is wet. If you lie down in it, when you get up, you will be cold and wet. The same rules apply to snowball fights.
8) Games II. If anyone asks you to play Mr. President, don't do it. This game was created as an excuse to throw unsuspecting Southerners in the snow. Your friends will name you president, surround you and act like secret service men protecting you.
Then, just when you think you are the special center of attention, they will throw you down in the snow. When you get up, bewildered, they will smile at you lovingly and answer calmly, "Sniper."
9) Radiators. That big metal thing in your room is a radiator. It predates the concept of central heat and is what is going to keep you warm this winter. Be careful though -- it gets mighty hot and will burn your skin right off. So don't prop your feet up on it -- it will also melt the soles of your shoes (trust me on this one too).
10) Plan Your Day. When you leave your room in the morning, take everything you might need that day. This is especially important if you live in the River. If you have all your work with you, you can sit wherever you are and do your reading, problem set etc. Do you really want to make three or four treks back and forth from the river? I didn't think so.
Keeping all this in mind, you should have a tolerable winter. And if you ever get depressed, just call your friends who are still in the South, tell them the windchill and listen to the awe in their responses. You'll be a hero.
Reprinted from The Dartmouth, Wednesday, January 10, 1996.
