Winter in Vermont rolls in like an unwanted best friend; repulsive in demeanor, bringing forth the harshness of nature and the ferocity of mad dog, but is strangely familiar. Vermonters grow up with winter the same way we grow up with cousins, neighbors, and schoolmates: she certifies who we are, familiarity with ourselves and each other, confirming our place in the cosmos.
Winter in the South is far different. She is a nuisance as a broken leg or another crippling injury. Winter in the South creates limitations: an unwanted houseguest who refuses to leave. You can feel her beginning to crawl into your life with the first catch of your breath in the morning causing a strange stirring among the people -- they become dejected, as if the seasonal change is a punishment. Southerners become reclusive, they begin to complain of things unaccomplished through the region's supposed-deserved natural state of summer.
That's the difference between the two: to Vermonters, an annual test of wills and the struggles of life near an arctic zone make us who we are. When the snow melts and the first rays of the morning sun warm our skin, the winter season becomes another notch in the belt of our ideals: more stories to be told and we celebrate the day. Southerners take it is a temporary nuisance: a roadblock prohibiting them from doing things they wish they could.
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