Winter stinks, death to winter

FLINT – This is a column filled with hatred and loathing. Oh, and whining. Lots and lots of whining. If you dislike that sort of thing, then you should move on to something else.

I’m guessing you’re all still here.

Let’s get on with it then: I’m sick of winter. Winter stinks. I’m over it. Death to winter.

I know those are not clever or unique thoughts. But saying them aloud somehow makes me feel better, and the best thing is, if I keep repeating the words over and over again like a mantra – winter stinks, I’m over it, death to winter – eventually they’ll come true.

After all, spring has to come sometime. Right?

The key is whether I can hold out that long. If I can’t, it’ll be the fault of the weather gods – and the fault of happy, optimistic people.

You know who you are. You’re the ones who enjoy torturing the miserable with your cheer and tolerance for the never-ending hell that is a Michigan winter.

You get on my nerves more every day.

In your smug, chipper, ever-so-slightly judgmental voices, you love seeking out wretches like me and saying, “Hey, friend, you live in a four season state. If you don’t enjoy that, why don’t you move?”

My answer: Yes, I live in a cold weather, four season state, and I positively hate the end of season three (fall), all of season four (winter) and a month or two of season one (spring), depending on how long season four hangs on.

And yes I should move. But I don’t, and for the same reasons everyone stays in Michigan, despite the weather, bad roads and ceaselessly clunky economy. I was born here, raised here, my family is here, my career is here.

Also, I like the summers. And the lakes. And I’m fond of our absence of hurricanes, monsoons, earthquakes, tsunamis, wildfires, locusts, volcanic explosions and giant meteor strikes. You can say a lot of things about Michigan, but you can’t say we’re a disaster belt. In fact, there are few places on the planet that are as benign as our state.

Except for the length and depth of our *&^%$#@ winters.

Sorry, I shouldn’t cuss like that in a family newspaper. Couldn’t be helped, though. I am so incredibly over winter.

If I hear one more forecaster say it’ll be warming up – warming up! – into the 20s, I may explode. If I hit one more pothole or drive one more road that hasn’t been plowed or salted, I may throw up slush. (My god, road crews, what are you saving the salt for – a margarita party?) If I see one more gray, leaden sky or have my breath stolen one more time by a gust of sub-zero wind, I may dig a hole and hibernate in it until it’s all over.

I didn’t used to be like this. I used to endure winter just fine. But years of cold, snow and gray have eroded my resistance to cold, snow and gray. I used to make it through March before going nuts. Then it was February. Now I start getting edgy in late December.

All of sudden I get why people turn into snowbirds. There’s an insidious quality to Michigan winters. They crawl inside of you and start to eat you from the inside, one frosty bite at a time. It’s enough to make a guy root for global warming.

I feel the need to not just accept winter, like all you Pollyannas. I feel the need to strike back in some way. To lash out. To fight back in some small, insignificant but meaningful (to me at least) way.

So until such time as winter ends, I shall recite my mantra over and over again in the vain hope that it will somehow, some way do some good.

“Winter stinks, I’m over it, death to winter.”

“Winter stinks, I’m over it, death to winter.”

“Winter stinks, I’m over it, death to winter.”

Join in if you like.

EDITOR’S NOTE – Andy Heller, an award-winning columnist, appears weekly in the Daily Press. He graduated from Escanaba Area High School in 1979. Write to Andrew Heller at or follow him on Facebook and Twitter.