How to Survive Snow in the Lowcountry
And we don't want to know how you did it up North. This is our Southerner's Field Guide.
Let’s begin with acceptance.
You are not going anywhere. Not across the bridge. Not down the street. Not even to the end of the driveway to “just check the road.” No one cares what you did up north. There is one snowplow for the state of South Carolina. It’s probably broken and has never been south of Columbia. Also—ice. Always ice.
When the forecast says “possible flurries,” head straight to the store.
Make it a rule to get there before you see that first snowflake. Buy milk and bread as your grandma taught you. Yes, milk makes no sense if the power goes out, but logic does not apply here. The shelves will be empty by noon. Add toilet paper and bottled water—purely out of muscle memory from Covid and hurricanes.
Take a shower—a good one. Wash your hair. Charge everything. Phones, iPads, flashlights, and that one portable charger you only use during storms. Because if the power goes out, it will either be for thirty minutes or long enough for you to start grilling shrimp from the freezer on the back porch.
Forget snow boots and sleds. This is the Lowcountry. We sled on trash can lids, boogie boards, and anything that floats—or almost floats. Shoes get covered with plastic grocery bags from Walmart. That’s not desperation. That’s coastal ingenuity.
Do not attempt to drive. Someone will. Someone always does. They will end up sideways and possibly hitting one of our beloved live oaks. They’ll be waving politely and saying, “I’m fine,” while waiting for a neighbor with a four-wheel-drive truck they don’t even know.
This will either be a full snow-and-ice apocalypse or absolutely nothing at all. By mid-afternoon, the sun will come out, the snow will melt into the pluff mud, and we’ll all feel slightly embarrassed about the bread situation.
Cancel your plans. Put on pajamas. Make soup or something fried. Stand at the window, coffee in hand, and say, “Well, I’ll be,” no matter what you see.
Snow in the Lowcountry isn’t really about weather.
It’s about community, chaos, and carbs.
And don’t forget the milk.
Let us know what you used for a sled.
You made ne laugh, Pat!
Perfectly said! It is so cold in Templin, Germany (north of Berlin)! It is now 18 degrees but feels like 7. But, the sun is out to warm up the spirit and a pot of soup is cooking on the stove. We‘ve already had a good udeal of snow with more on the horizon. As Theo, my husband says, „it‘s winter“!