snowfall

Snow fell down on the city for the first time in few years. Having
lived in the midwest for most of my life, the sight of snow is usually
more of a nuisance than joy. When you were a kid, just a couple
flakes could involuntarily smash your face against the window panes,
achingly straining you eyes for the first signs of unforgiving blizzard
that would incapacitate the district bus system while building an
enviable hill that could propel a two-person toboggan at speeds once
limited only to Chuck Yeager.

Now, snow just means you have to shovel the driveway and spend an
extra hour in traffic. Two hours if you live in Atlanta.

Snow is uncommon in the city, but I wouldn't go as far as to say it's
rare. A few inches seem to fall every few years and the locals are
reminded that as much as everyone wants to think we live in the hot
basement of the American south, we're just a few clicks below a full
four seasons.

Last year I was the still photographer on a documentary about UGA
football in Athens. One of the crew members and I were driving
around around Athens and asking about each other's lives. He was a
native New Yorker and we got to talking about the way locals handle
the precipitation. I told him that once it started to lightly rain when I
was driving down 75. Soon the traffic slowed to a crawl and people
started darting left and right, changing lanes the way roaches scurry
away from a flashlight. I thought there was an accident ahead or
maybe a big sporting event in town but after a while, the realization
came that the traffic and erratic behavior was a result of a little rain.

The crew member scoffed and gave me one of those grizzled veteran
looks of cocky experience. He leaned over, as if we were in a
crowded bar in Warsaw and he was going to tell me a Polish joke,
and said, "These Georgians can't drive for shit! They don't know how
to act when it rains or anything else." I asked him about snow. He
proceeded to tell me horror stories of a city crippled by the kind of
accumulation that St. Paul wouldn't even register in the evening
news. He told me that if I saw another now fall in Atlanta, it would
be the scene of mass hysteria. Employers flooded with sick excuses,
cars gridlocked at spaghetti junction and a mass run at every
Kroger for milk, eggs, bottled water and Marlboros. The next
whiteout, he predicted, would be on a scale that I had never scene
and it would catch me off guard.

So when those huge snowflakes began falling on Ponce a couple
weeksago, I grabbed my camera and tried to get some shots of it
and the ensuing chaos. I was able to snap a few pics that brought
out the snow, but the mad rush I envisioned at Kroger was replaced
by calm shoppers trudging about, buying kitchen staples and meat.
The traffic was calm and the mood lacked desperate citizens
grappling over the last tuna helper.

By the time I had walked back home, it was dark and the half-inch
flakes had turned into rain. It dissolved what little remained of the
snow on the ground and sent patches of fading ice cascading into
the gutter. I still believe that locals have a tough time dealing with
anything less than sunshine, but I hope that the next snowfall brings
out the hysteria that proves it.