The language of winter, a look at the 'Snowy Season'

The 'snowy season' seems to have set in and that means winter is official by the calendar and real outside. I grew up in the Midwest and experienced winter, but it wasn't until my own family lived in the western part of the country that I began to really understand winter-bitter cold, lots of snow, and howling winds. We first lived in Wyoming, bounced back east and south for a few years, then to North Dakota, western Washington and parts of both western and eastern Montana. I'd say we've had a pretty fair sampling of western winters.

50 words for snow?

Many readers may have heard, "Eskimos have fifty words for snow." In the 1880's anthropologist Franz Boar studied the lives and language of the Inuit people in northern Canada and found they did, in fact, have 50 words to describe all the variations of snow. Here in north central Montana, walking or driving around after or in a snowfall it only takes a little effort to realize that snow can be quite varied-how it falls (slow and fat flakes to wind driven icy pellets and blizzards) to how it lays and forms once it falls (hard layers, drifts and weird shapes created by the wind).

Scholars say languages evolve to "suit the ideas and needs that are most crucial to the lives of their speakers." It is no surprise that people living in extreme northern climes would make distinctions about the types of snow and what it might mean for their livelihood or survival. Researchers also say that as people abandon their old ways, much of the richness of their language also disappears-the new generations have motorized boats instead of kayaks and snowmobiles instead of dog sleds and the subtleties of snow and ice become less important.

On a recent auto trip back to the Midwest, particularly North Dakota, I was reminded of some of the language of winter I've experienced over the last 30 years. And, after living in several western states, am still surprised when I hear some new word to describe some winter condition. Here are a few bits of the language of winter that readers might find familiar or totally new, but hopefully interesting.

From snirt to the convergence zone: winter in the west

South central Wyoming was our first stop on our western saga. Winters there lasted from about September to early June. Once snow came in the fall, it never left until summer. The defining thing about the weather in that part of the state was the wind. That's where we first learned about ground blizzards-which seem to be common to all the places we lived in the west.

From Wyoming we went to Virginia, then to Georgia. Eastern North Dakota was the next stop. This, I would have to say, is when I really got a new understanding of bitter cold and wind. We moved to North Dakota in the winter, driving cross country from Georgia. At the end of the multi-day trip we saw our first "sun dogs." Sometimes called phantom or mock suns, sun dogs are halos created by light interacting with ice crystals in the air. They are most common in the bitter cold days of winter but I saw a sun dog once, when we lived in Libby, Montana, in the summer. I've never seen one here in north central Montana, but am guessing they do happen.

In North Dakota we lived in a farming community so people were more attuned to and talked about winter weather as it affected their livelihood and safety. A term that appears to be unique to eastern North Dakota is "snirt." It's very descriptive of a condition that I see here in Montana-blowing snow and dirt-but no one in western or eastern Montana seems to be familiar with it. The wind often cleared the fields in the winter and farmers said that was why they seldom planted winter wheat.

There are other unique bits of the language of winter in North Dakota. For example, types of snow drifts across the highways have names-"finger drifts" are long, but not very tall while "pillow drifts" are taller, thicker and may be impossible to break through with a vehicle. The tracks made by the first vehicles after a snow, that always seem to turn into long-lasting slick spots, are called "ribbon ice." And when a vehicle passes you and kicks up snow that makes visibility hazardous, that's "snow dust."

Hoar frost is common to every western state, but not always identified by that name. Folks in Blaine County tend not to know the term "hoar frost," but the icy coating that makes everything look like it's been flocked is a familiar winter sight. Around Libby some people were familiar with the term "graupel," but not everyone. Also known as "corn snow," graupel does occur here but isn't known by that name. It's an icy form of snow, that looks, well, like corn when it's on the ground.

The furthest west we ever lived was Arlington, Washington, a small town north of Seattle about 70 miles. Winter weather there tends to be gloomy and drizzly rain. Arlington's weather is affected by the Convergence Zone (PSCZ). Northwest winds, in the upper atmosphere, are split by the Olympic Mountains (on the coast) then re-converge over Puget Sound and create strong updrafts. The rising warm air hits cold air in the upper atmosphere and causes unsettled weather. In the winter, that can cause a belt of snow that affects a rather narrow area north of Seattle, but nowhere else around Puget Sound. One other comment about that part of the country, because of the high humidity the winter frost on windshields is like concrete and very thick.