’Course that my perch in the Great American Suburb of Saks is 740 feet above sea level may have something to do with that. If I were living under a beach umbrella in Miami, which is like a mere 6 feet above sea level, melting icecaps might scare me.
And down where the sand meets the water (The Beach Umbrella National Park), it’s like zero. If I were sitting on zero, I might consider catching the next taxi up to at least Macon, Ga.
But here, wow ... or have you noticed the old heat pump has been silent for the past few days?
Outside the “castle,” it’s been 72-82 degrees, the Bradford pears have peaked, azaleas are in bloom, red bud is everywhere and the mountains that surround us are greening daily. It is not the best of times for Reddy Kilowatt.
It’s a bit different than say just 19 years ago when all this talk of global warming wasn’t so much as a wart on the Goodyear blimp.
It was March 12-13, 1993 ... or have you forgotten?
I had 12 inches of snow in my front yard and in folklore it is now remembered as The Great Blizzard of ’93.
James Spann, the weather whiz at 33/40 in Birmingham, was glowing in the aftermath of a dead-on prediction two days before the blizzard hit. There were reports he wore out three sets of suspenders walking around the 33/40 newsroom, snapping ’em with great pride and saying ...
“Told you so, told you so ... hit it dead on, didn’t I ... told you so.”
The night the storm hit, I’m sitting out in the sunroom watching it snow. Along about 1:30 in the morning, there’s a curtain of white covering the night and green lightning — and I mean “green” — is streaking across the sky. It could have been the cider I was sipping, but whatever it was, I headed for the bed.
A great hush woke me up along about 4 a.m. ... power’s gone. The silence in the castle was deafening.
Now, be honest with me, which had you rather have around here, an ice age turning our beloved valley into an Eskimo village or what’s out there right now?
Easy answer. Bring on the dogwoods, the azaleas, and iced tea out on the patio.
For me, anyway.
But global warming aside, I wouldn’t put away the electric blanket just yet.
Like I mentioned, the Great Blizzard hit here in March, which is right now, March 18 as of this morning. And I think I also need to remind you that the last real snow we had blew in here on April 3, 1997, just missing being one heck of an April Fool’s Day prank.
When I got up that morning, there was 3 inches in the front yard. But it was gone by mid-afternoon and when it comes to snow, that’s the kind I like. You know, one that looks good on a Liberty National calendar, but is gone with a quick turn of the page.
Me, I’ll vote for global warming any old day and let Miami be Miami.
Truth is, even if The Global Warming Gang is right, with a “possible” one-and-one-half-foot sea rise over the next 50 years, a good guess is I won’t be around to worry all that much about it. At that rate, it will take centuries to reach The Great American Suburb of Saks. It’s a better bet the rapture gets here first.
At the moment, I have no plans to buy a rowboat. It’s more likely that after church today I’ll stop by Wal-Mart and pick up some lemons (lemonade), sun lotion, and a pair of dark sun shades.
But there is one tiny caveat in all of this ...
If The Great Global Warming is indeed upon us, what’s going to happen to Blackberry Winter?
Now that’s something to worry about ... for 30 seconds or so ...
George Smith can be reached at 256-239-5286 or e-mail: email@example.com