By Zac Bestwick
As the fall semester comes to a close, so too does the fall season, and as a resident of a southern state, I’m not a fan. Back in North Carolina, I used to dream about snow days and even being able to see my own breath at the bus stop. But now, on the precipice of my fourth winter in Washington, I’m trying my best to think hot, sunny thoughts.
It hasn’t snowed yet here in D.C., but recent lows in the 40s and 30s combined with plenty of wind have made our nation’s capitol feel like a frozen tundra, at least to somebody who grew up with the calmer and cozier cold down in Charlotte. Combine that with the early sunsets and even a few cold rainstorms, and you have a recipe for yuckiness. I sorely miss the beginning of this semester when the sun shined all day long and the air was nice and warm.
I didn’t always feel this way. As a kid, I always wished for a real winter when all we got was a few cold weeks and maybe an inch or two of snow. My first winter in D.C. was an exciting change of pace, as I had just arrived on campus for the first time as a freshman. The desolate cold mirrored the empty city streets brought about by the peaks of the COVID-19 pandemic, a stark but strangely beautiful situation that brought me and my newfound freshman friends together. I’ll always remember marching down empty icy streets with my roommates and other companions as we explored our new home.
Three full years later, the cold is back and I just want to stay inside. When confronted with the occasional cold evening in Charlotte, I’d throw on a hoodie and sit out by the firepit I built in my backyard out of stone bricks. In D.C., I’m forced to don as many as four thick layers to combat the wind (I’m a skinny lad, four is often necessary) before waddling out from my dorm to class. I’ve even added a few scarves to my wardrobe, an article of clothing that I never dared consider back home.
Even though I’ve stocked up on scarves, hats, and gloves, I often forget them out of habit when I leave my dorm for the day. I remember a jacket (or two) when I know it’ll be cold, but for some reason I can never remember to put on a hat for the life of me. It’s just that I so rarely need one back home, let alone gloves. And if I did wear a hat, it would probably fill my hair with static electricity, causing it to spring straight up while I sit through my classes. Instead, I simply let my head freeze, hands too. I rub them together ceaselessly, which doesn’t help in the slightest.
Maybe I feel this way because summers in Washington are so nice. Nothing compares to a summer afternoon at a Nationals game or out on the Mall. The heat certainly gets up there, but I’ll take a sunny summer day in Kogan Plaza over the blistering southern heat of the Carolinas any day of the week. I miss summertime activities, like hanging out on the steps of the Lincoln memorial or walking around campus with a cold frappuccino from Starbucks on a hot day.
In any case, I find myself waiting for spring even before winter has officially begun. Rather than counting the days until Christmas, I’ll be counting the days until I can go outside in just a t-shirt again. Until then, if you happen to see a student on a cold windy day stumbling down H street with too many jackets on, muttering obscenities under his breath as he rubs his hands together to keep them from freezing solid, take pity on him. It’s probably me.
