I have a confession: I’m sorely missing snow this winter. It’s too warm where I live, though over the past few winters, we have seen some extreme weather, including a lot of snow. I never ever thought I would miss snow. A decade ago, my family moved from New York City to the Hudson Valley, and I was appalled by the snow. We were only a few hours north in the country, and I’m not sure how many more inches of snow we were technically getting, but the entire culture around winter weather upstate was so different.
In New York City, snow is pretty, but only right when it falls. It quickly turns brown and yellow and gray. Ick. Also, snow might slow things down a little, but nothing stops. Even in huge storms, the subway still runs. Meetings don’t get cancelled en masse. Upstate, when a dusting hits the forecast, days before it even falls from the sky, everyone acts like a snow tsunami is en route and clears the store shelves of milk and toilet paper, then hunkers down. Schools close or delay constantly to protect the kids, sometimes when it’s only raining. Or sunny and bone dry! Forecasting is mercurial, I get it, but it’s impossible to work or maintain any sort of routine with so many unplanned school snow days. Grrr.
But then I started to soften. Sometimes we got the sort of storm that dumps multiple feet of snow on the house—ripping the gutters right off. We did have to get them reattached, but so what? The piles of fluffy pristine white were a real thrill. I remember sledding at 10 p.m. once, just us adults after the kids went to sleep! It felt so joyous, we wanted to play in it as it fell. I also went cross-country skiing not infrequently off the back of our yard onto an adjoining land preserve, my youngest kid strapped to me in a carrier, sun glaring off the snow into our eyes. Who was I?
It was around this halcyon time of admitting I could see the charm of snow after four decades on earth that I first heard the word bombogenesis. It caught my attention because it sounds formidable. Also known as a bomb cyclone, it’s when a cold air mass collides with a warm air mass, typically over warm ocean waters.
I somehow thought it was mostly used to describe a resulting massive rain storm, not snow, but bombogenesis was being repeated over and over by weather forecasters hyping up viewers. They’d couple it with snowmageddon and artic blast. No wonder the store shelves were bare. I soon succumbed to snow-anxiety-induced shopping, but instead of milk, I bought a roof rake!? I had never even known such a thing existed, but we felt it was needed to remove snow pressure from our 100-year-old slate roof.
But the snow wasn’t all charming. While I tried to focus on its enjoyable aspects, I knew in my heart that the increased colloquial use of bomb cyclone and other extreme weather words meant only one thing: climate change. While many of the meteorological terms used to describe intensified storms are familiar, like hurricane, wildfire, and drought, these new weird terms and phenomena really highlight just how mainstream the climate crisis has become. The winter bomb cyclone seemed to become a familiar term; polar vortex was also bandied about not infrequently. Ugh.
Ever heard of an atmospheric river? I hadn’t until California was recently ravaged with downpours and relentless storms that took human life. Rivers in the sky transporting moist air from the tropics can be beneficial to regional water supply but can also release heavy wind, rain, and snow. In areas experiencing drought, they can cause flash floods, mudslides, and destruction of property—and lives. I wish I could unlearn the term, but extreme weather is here to stay, triggered by human-caused climate change.
Extreme weather is climate change in action. Greenhouse gases from the combustion of fossil fuels are making much of our planet hotter and wetter. Temperatures have been increasing steadily since the 1980s, and we are now experiencing more severe heat waves, fiercer wildfires, wilder hurricanes, heavier floods, and drier droughts. Warmer air can hold more moisture than colder air, so a warmer atmosphere means stronger storms. Higher temperatures also make wildfire seasons longer and more intense. Drought is intensified, too; higher temperatures boost evaporation.
Warmer winters in the Northeast, where I live, are part of this change. Without the cold temperatures we are accustomed to, there’s less snow. What’s happening right now in my neck of the woods is being referred to as a record-breaking snow drought. Apparently, this season will bring the lowest snow cover in over a decade. I’m sad there’s no snow to build snow people with my kids, sure, but what I’m really concerned about is what the local impacts of no or reduced snow this winter will mean come spring and beyond.
We already know the lack of snow is hurting local businesses that rely on winter recreation tourism—from ski mountains to hotels to restaurants. What will reduced snow mean for the many farms and orchards the region I call home is famous for? I want to help, but there’s not a whole lot one individual can to do fix climate change. Still, I do my part, which to me involves urging my elected representatives to act on climate. If you also want to help, I hope you’ll speak up in a similar fashion. A sustainable and resilient future comes down to strong climate policy.
LEARN MORE ABOUT EXTREME WEATHER AND WHERE IT COMES FROM, INCLUDING A GLOSSARY OF TERMS
TELL EPA: FINALIZE STRONG METHANE RULES TO PROTECT CHILDREN’S HEALTH
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