Snow wars

By Rick Ruffin

The day that I left Bangkok it was 38 degrees. When I reached Donghae, Gangwon Province, one day later on Feb. 11, all the cars were already buried under mounds of snow, looking like white tombs.

The recent record-breaking snowfall, which my landlord claimed is the most he’s seen “in 50 years of living here,” was a big enough event to make it on CNN. But this wasn’t merely a blizzard of biblical proportions. This was a huge lesson for mankind, a lesson that has largely been ignored.

The lesson wasn’t lost on my friend John in Houston, Texas. In an email to me he wrote: “I wonder if the storm you experienced in Korea had any relationship to the storm we had last week that swept across the U.S. … Could this be further evidence of melting polar ice caps and associated climate change?”

Here in Korea the media is labeling the cleanup and aftermath of this storm “nun-gwaeui jeonjaeng” which translates into English as “war with snow.” But is this really nature declaring war on mankind, or is it merely nature telling us to slow down?

Mainly, it was nature talking to mankind. Nature was saying, “Slow down, slow down. No need to hurry. Civilization is moving forward too fast. This heavy snow will give everyone a chance to sit at home for a few days and reappraise things. This will give everyone a chance to appreciate the fine things in life.”

Not. Instead of appreciating the beauty and wonder of nature we took to the streets, shovels in hand, scraping and digging. Scraping and digging and shoveling out those cars that now resembled so many white tombs.

It seems as if everyone was shoveling snow. When I walked out the front door of my house, skis in hand to go down to the beach (I ski on Nordic skis, which is much like walking) I felt oddly like a criminal. Why wasn’t I shoveling snow like the rest? Why did I have the audacity to actually consider having fun, when everyone else was working?

Everyone was clearing snow. Text messages from the emergency broadcast center told me to clear the snow from in front of my house. When I went to the store to buy milk, the clerk asked me if I had been clearing snow. “No,” I told him. “Why should I? I don’t have a car.” He just looked at me and chuckled. But in the end I did end up working, helping my landlords scrape the snow off their roof.

What this storm was trying to teach us ― and taught me, at least ― is how dependent we’ve all become on convenience. What it taught me is this is the price we pay for messing with the climate. But the lesson hasn’t been learned. Once this snow is all cleared and taken care of we will all go back to doing things the same as if this never happened, as if the connection between global CO2 emissions and climate change has yet to be learned.

What this storm showed me is how many earth moving machines there are in Korea, and when something like this happens, they all come out in force, scraping and shoveling and creating a holy racket. I can hear one now, outside my window as I write. I can hear the moan of the engine, and the thump, thump, thump of the heavy, iron shovel, as it bites into the ice in the middle of the road.

What it showed me, and can show anyone who looks, is how dirty the air is that we breathe. In no time the white snow, which fell in such a pure state, has turned a sickly, gray color. That is because of all the automobiles passing by, covering it with their sickly exhaust. This is the air that we breathe. This is the air that we have chosen to breathe.

The lesson that I have learned from this three-day deluge from the heavens, that produced a cleanup that will go on for at least a week and probably longer, is that we don’t really like snow.

We don’t really like snow. Well, some of us do, but most of us don’t. We’d rather just be rid of the nuisance in the first place. I’m sure some scientists are somewhere trying to invent a new snow, a snow that doesn’t cause us any inconvenience, a snow that doesn’t need scraping and shoveling to make it go away, a snow that isn’t cold and doesn’t crush houses or turn to water when the weather changes ― a snow that we all can live with.

I’m sure the scientists can come up with such a snow. Let’s just give them a little more time. In the meantime, keep your shovels sharp!

Rick Ruffin, a graduate of University of Texas, Austin, now writes from Donghae, Gangwon Province. He can be reached at rick.ruffin@gmail.com. His most recent book, “What the Politicians Aren’t Saying,” was published by Doyosay Press.