A monstrous blizzard called Storm Larry struck New England on February 5, 1978 with the force of a hurricane and dumped almost three feet on snow by the time Larry moved into the Atlantic. I called my father to ask if he wanted me to come home.
"How you getting here?" Our family house was in the shadow of the Blue Hills.
"Train? You can pick me up at 128.
"128 has one lane. The road to our house is closed. Stay where you are, but thanks for asking."
New York had survived the storm, but just.
This year there is no winter.
This week there was cold day and the White House's meterological expert Donald Trump mocked climate change by twittering about the good ole days of 'global warming'. His political base cheered his humor, but the cold snap barely lasted twenty-four hours.
THe lack on a cold season in New York did stop stop a winter phenomena on the Presumpscot River in Westbrook, Maine just upstream from the old SD Warren. A circle of ice turned in the current. I had swum in the river as a youth there. The media called it a space weirdness, but they don't know winter and neither does anyone south of Kittery.
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