To my teenage daughter and her friends, our schoold district uses a most unfair and inaccurate termology: "Snow Day." In reality, according to the teens, they never close school and when they do it's never about snow.
Among the non-teenage population in our community, this wind has a more widely known reputation for dirtying the sides of houses, filling our skies with silt, and turning over tractor-trailer semis on the Parks Highway where the highway runs perpendicular to the "wind tunnel." This perpendicular stretch is called "the flats," and is in fact flat and appears barren (pictured above). Though the fact is, it is far from barren. Many moose range for food here, and birds of all kinds nest here among wild iris and marsh grasses in the spring and summer. But back to the weather...
The recent cold snap that saw temperatures dip to -30 degrees and lasted for weeks finally broke yesterday, and it appeared southcentral Alaska may be back to more normal temperatures ... normal being somewhere around 10 to 20 degrees above zero.
Then last night a wind started to gust. The temperature when I went to bed was 20 degrees; this morning, around 5:40 a.m., we were bolted out of bed by the ringing telephone. It was the Assistant Superintendent's pre-recorded message in a mass spamming of the landlines that officially pronounced driving to be treacherous from the rain on ice-packed roads. In a most urgent and serious tone stated that school was cancelled.
The winds from the south and east that bring us warm weather in Alaska are called the Chinook Winds, which I understand are actually born from the Canadian Rockys and are very familiar to Canadians. And may I add here that there's only one thing I love more than Canada: that's Alaska. But that's another blog...
Meanwhile, upon hearing the Assistant Superintendent's pronouncement of devastating roads, my daughter gleefully leapt from her bed - a leap created by a jolt of joy that no surging adrenaline could rival. She gracefully flipped off her alarm clock, jumped back into bed pulling the covers over her head, and produced a blanket-muffled "YAAAY!"
There was no complaint about the "Snow Day" terminology; school is out, going back to bed, call it what you like.
Her sentiment one morning last year as she surveyed the 6-inch ocean of new snow on her path to the bus stop: "It could snow 5 feet and they won't let us take a Snow Day!"
I suppose 
there is some kernel of truth to that. And, yet, if I recall 5 years ago, there was one day during which 12 inches did fall in the region. We lived in Anchorage then, and school closed there, so it is likely the Mat-Su School District closed school that day too, though it is not certain. Rugged, those Valley folk.
there is some kernel of truth to that. And, yet, if I recall 5 years ago, there was one day during which 12 inches did fall in the region. We lived in Anchorage then, and school closed there, so it is likely the Mat-Su School District closed school that day too, though it is not certain. Rugged, those Valley folk. Nevertheless, snow or no snow, every year the district does cancel school for a day, sometimes two, under the Snow Day allowance. One might ask, "If they don't close for snow, then what?" The translation for a Mat-Su Snow Day is in actuality "Ice Day" aka "Treacherous Road Day."
This has a lot to do with the 40-foot school buses sliding off of the smaller neighborhood roads. No child left behind: they are not allowed to leave the bus, even if they are in front of their house, until a medic and another bus shows up. Insurance rules, you know. And the medic and replacement bus' arrival is, of course, dependent upon whether they do not ditch-dive.
On t
hose days, the main and arterial roads are often safe and even dry. But the side roads are snow-packed all winter, so when temperatures begin to warm, this hard-packed surface accumulates a sheen of water, creating an ice rink. Icy roads are also created when the wind buffs the hard-packed surface. Neither condition is preferable to the other...they both suck, as my daughter points out when she has to walk in the knee-deep snow on the side of the roads to get home. On these surfaces, no matter how stable one is, and regardless if one wears cleats, there is no chance of standing up without slipping. Though you might be able to ice skate.
hose days, the main and arterial roads are often safe and even dry. But the side roads are snow-packed all winter, so when temperatures begin to warm, this hard-packed surface accumulates a sheen of water, creating an ice rink. Icy roads are also created when the wind buffs the hard-packed surface. Neither condition is preferable to the other...they both suck, as my daughter points out when she has to walk in the knee-deep snow on the side of the roads to get home. On these surfaces, no matter how stable one is, and regardless if one wears cleats, there is no chance of standing up without slipping. Though you might be able to ice skate.If I h
ave to drive on such a road, I have the vague impression that I'm playing a video game with high stakes: my job is to slowly and gently steer the $14,000 car in the direction that the road leads, more as one would a guide a boat with a rudder. Triumph is to successfully get to the end of the road, gently administering corrective navigational techniques when the vehicle's rear side threatens to come along the front side. All the while during this crossing, you hope that you don't meet another car driving toward you. It is most exciting.
ave to drive on such a road, I have the vague impression that I'm playing a video game with high stakes: my job is to slowly and gently steer the $14,000 car in the direction that the road leads, more as one would a guide a boat with a rudder. Triumph is to successfully get to the end of the road, gently administering corrective navigational techniques when the vehicle's rear side threatens to come along the front side. All the while during this crossing, you hope that you don't meet another car driving toward you. It is most exciting. My daughter recounted how bizarre it was recently that officials in Tok, AK, which is not in our school district, were discussing closing the school when temperatures there recently hit -60 degrees F. In our district, school closes at -40 degrees F, and wind chill doesn't count. I admit that seems barbaric when you consider that children of all ages are waiting at their bus stops for as long as 15 minutes.
Worse yet, my daughter contends, is that they do not factor in the 
wind chill. Her school is positioned in the path of the Matanuska Glacier (right), a relentless wind-generating natural phenomenon that: 1) clearly exists to make high schoolers suffer; 2) prevents them from breathing or feeling their faces as they walk from the bus to the school (across the largest parking lot in the world next to Disneyland); and 3) forces them to walk bent into the wind across said parking lot.
wind chill. Her school is positioned in the path of the Matanuska Glacier (right), a relentless wind-generating natural phenomenon that: 1) clearly exists to make high schoolers suffer; 2) prevents them from breathing or feeling their faces as they walk from the bus to the school (across the largest parking lot in the world next to Disneyland); and 3) forces them to walk bent into the wind across said parking lot. But honey, that's what scarves, hats, gloves and coats are for.
* Snerk * Mother, I will not wear that. It's not necessary.
Of course dear, I would never ask that of you. Far better to not breathe than to wear a scarf.
Among the non-teenage population in our community, this wind has a more widely known reputation for dirtying the sides of houses, filling our skies with silt, and turning over tractor-trailer semis on the Parks Highway where the highway runs perpendicular to the "wind tunnel." This perpendicular stretch is called "the flats," and is in fact flat and appears barren (pictured above). Though the fact is, it is far from barren. Many moose range for food here, and birds of all kinds nest here among wild iris and marsh grasses in the spring and summer. But back to the weather...
The recent cold snap that saw temperatures dip to -30 degrees and lasted for weeks finally broke yesterday, and it appeared southcentral Alaska may be back to more normal temperatures ... normal being somewhere around 10 to 20 degrees above zero.Then last night a wind started to gust. The temperature when I went to bed was 20 degrees; this morning, around 5:40 a.m., we were bolted out of bed by the ringing telephone. It was the Assistant Superintendent's pre-recorded message in a mass spamming of the landlines that officially pronounced driving to be treacherous from the rain on ice-packed roads. In a most urgent and serious tone stated that school was cancelled.
My foggy mind thought, Rain was what was hitting the woodstove's smokestack last night? Huh. I thought it was crystalized snow. And as my mind cleared a bit, a roaring gust of wind rattled our tight doors, heaved our windows, and shuddered vent pipes on its path across our home. Freight train winds. Hm. I checked the outdoor thermometer: 40 degrees F.
So in a matter of 36 hours our temperature increased 50 degrees, from Monday night's 10 below zero.
The winds from the south and east that bring us warm weather in Alaska are called the Chinook Winds, which I understand are actually born from the Canadian Rockys and are very familiar to Canadians. And may I add here that there's only one thing I love more than Canada: that's Alaska. But that's another blog...Meanwhile, upon hearing the Assistant Superintendent's pronouncement of devastating roads, my daughter gleefully leapt from her bed - a leap created by a jolt of joy that no surging adrenaline could rival. She gracefully flipped off her alarm clock, jumped back into bed pulling the covers over her head, and produced a blanket-muffled "YAAAY!"
There was no complaint about the "Snow Day" terminology; school is out, going back to bed, call it what you like.
