The Duke community experienced its first snowfall on Sunday morning, but the snow “didn’t stick” to the ground.
(I have no idea what that means. But that’s how a couple of my Long Island friends described the snowfall to me. “Didn’t stick” apparently means that, because of early-morning, non-frozen precipitation, the frozen atmospheric water vapor failed to amalgamate and form a layer of snow or ice on the ground. But, parenthetically speaking, there are a lot of ways that it did “stick.”
This was my first ever snowfall. I’m a native of Los Angeles, a region defined by its monotonous forecast of sunny and hot, sunny and warm or—thanks to a recent El Niño—sunny with a midday drizzle. I’ve travelled a bunch, and although I’ve been to New York City plenty of times in the winter, each visit I always seem to miss the snowfall by a few days. As for other opportunities to experience snowfall, I don’t have the balance, endurance, patience or jargon required for skiing. Fact is, the snow that I’ve sled upon, waddled through, tossed around, peed in and munched on—not in that order—has always simply been there, magically waiting for me.
Yet, on Sunday, I arose to what had merely been a movie moment for my 18 years of existence: the first snow of the year. Any year. I shook awake my roommate, who couldn’t have cared less. Grabbing one of the dozen warm coats that my characteristically-worried Jewish parents sent from home, I flew out of the Blackwell dorm doors. And there, for the first time in my entire life, I experienced snowfall, the first snowfall of a place that I called “home.” I was truly amazed.
Because it didn’t “stick,” most at Duke weren’t as affected as I had been. The majority of the members of the Duke community awoke to a light flurry, filmed the mandatory videos to add to their Snapchat stories and went about their respective days. For most, it merely made for a wet, uncomfortable Sunday morning as, on impact, the snow melted immediately—and pathetically—into the existing puddles of mud.
The snowfall, underwhelming as it may have been for most of our community, however, was an indicator of something even greater than the weather. It marked a symbolic passing of time, a reminder that we have to acknowledge the ever-changing conditions, both in the climate and in ourselves.
Just four months ago, Blue Devils on campuses East, West and Central donned tank tops and t-shirts discolored by semi-concealed pit stains as we adapted to a damp Durham condition: a heat that definitely did “stick.” Note that I did have the appropriate attire for this atmospheric event thanks to the boring perfection of the weather of my hometown. In fact, this condition was quite familiar to my perspirative perspective and approach at home. I was at Duke, just as I was in Los Angeles. My condition wasn’t of any immediate concern.
But then, without notice, our Durham damp heat released its grip on the Duke community and a more comfortable warmth became the new normal. It wasn’t sudden; it just happened. Much like the way we found ourselves falling into new patterns of a new way of life, there was no climactic reason to pay attention. Comfortable warmth became a blustery cool, and our blustery cool became a stagnant cold—at least for this Californian. All the while, we had yet to be commanded by an atmospheric event to stop what we were doing and look further into what we’ve been up to.
Which brings us all to last Sunday. Our first snowfall. Whether we liked it or whether we even noticed it, the snow actually did have some “stick” to it. There was something impactful and important as, for the first time this year, Durham weather happened. And with that first falling snow, I was inspired to “drop in to see what condition my condition was in.”
So, I checked in. I paid attention. I assessed my condition. I had come a long way from the sticky damp heat of September, a feeling of evolution that I’m sure is shared by plenty of other freshman. As the snowflakes outside of Blackwell landed on one of my many SoCal-shipped jackets and momentarily frosted my California-cut hair, in that moment, I realized that my condition had adapted, and continues to adapt, to this home. A home that was not Los Angeles.
I’ve come to find that my own condition is now dependent not merely upon the weather conditions at Duke but also upon the exceptional non-atmospheric conditions of Duke and the varied conditions of the members of the Duke community.
It’s special to call such a place that experiences such dramatic changes and wide-ranging variations in its conditions “home.” It’s not something to take for granted, despite the fact that we often do, as we are so focused on discovering our own respective paths that we forget to look around and look within, to feel the changing conditions and to let things stick.
And that was it. That will always be the story of my first snowfall. A definitive moment. Everybody gets only one first snowfall, just like everybody gets only one first kiss. For me, both were surprisingly wet, sadly weak and ended way too quickly. But they sure do stick.)
Jackson Prince is a Trinity freshman. His column runs on alternate Tuesdays.
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