With the elections behind us, we can now prepare for something more pressing — winter. We don’t have anything marked on a calendar, announced on the evening news or celebrated with a holiday. Instead, we step outside, feel a little chill in the air and think out loud, “I should probably get that done before it snows.” And, just like that, we begin our annual transformation from summer people into winter people.
Those who have never lived in Iowa struggle to fully understand this. They think winter preparation means buying a heavier coat and turning up the thermostat. Bless their hearts. They have no idea.
First comes the final mowing of the lawn. We keep cutting the grass shorter and shorter, trying to predict which Saturday will be the last time we fire up the mower. Despite our efforts, we don’t seem to ever get it right. Either we mow one more time after we thought we were done, or we stare at the grass in November and wonder whether it needs one more trim before the snow buries it.
Then there are the flowers, plants and ornamental grasses. Some people carefully prune each one. I take a different approach. Right or wrong, I run the push mower over them all, leaving a nice, smooth surface for the winter wind to blow across. It may not be horticulturally correct, but it is efficient. And, in Iowa, efficiency counts when the wind chill is headed toward zero.
Next comes the wardrobe exchange. Shorts and short-sleeved shirts go into hiding, while sweaters, flannel shirts and long underwear emerge from storage. We locate the stocking hats, mittens, winter coats and snow boots. Finding the second mitten is an annual bonus.
We haul the deck furniture into storage, stash the cushions and blow leaves out of the gutters. We disconnect the garden hose from the spigot before it freezes and turns into an expensive plumbing lesson.
Then we set mouse traps, as the mice watch the weather forecast, too. They know our homes are warmer than the great outdoors.
We stock up on ice melt, check the jumper cables in our vehicles and begin allowing extra time for the morning commute. In Iowa, a 20-minute drive can become a 45-minute exercise in patience, depending on whether Mother Nature has decided to give us snow, ice, fog or all three.
We also develop an unusual relationship with the weather forecast. We check it before bed, when we wake up and sometimes while standing outside looking at the sky. We trust the meteorologists, but we also know that they have been wrong before. And, through all this, we act as though it is perfectly normal.
Iowa winters are truly remarkable. We complain about the cold, curse the snow and question our life choices while scraping ice off our windshields. Yet, we do the same things every year, often without thinking about them. It is our seasonal ritual, a collection of little chores that separates those who live here from those who simply visit.
So, to our friends in warmer climates, enjoy your mild winters. We will be over here checking the mouse traps, hunting for our other mitten and wondering whether we should mow the lawn one more time. Winter is coming.
Have a wonderful Wednesday, and thank you for reading. | 
