Our Winter of Discontent
Of all the Minnesota winters I’ve endured, this one could very well be the worst.
By: David Ma
Disclaimer: This article was written shortly after the first snowfall, when there was a significant amount of snow on the ground. I’m not sure how the environment will look when this is published, but I do know that winter is coming nonetheless.
Even in a normal year, five inches of snow in the middle of October would be pretty annoying. It would signal the onset of winter, of biting winds, and of the confines of indoors. Winter in Minnesota is a harsh affair, marked by frigid subzero temperatures and treacherous layers of ice.
And this year is anything but normal. Back in March, when I was adjusting to COVID but failing to fully understand its magnitude, I held onto foolish hopes that the pandemic would be over by Fall. Hopes that the country would get its act together, that in person classes would resume, and that together we would overcome. And yet here we are, not only failing to flatten the curve but hitting all time highs. Here I am, sitting in that spinning chair by my window for upwards of eight hours every day, browsing through my laptop in the little direct sunlight that reaches my apartment.
No—COVID is not going anywhere anytime soon. Most scientists estimate that a vaccine will not be available to the masses until sometime next Summer, and that even then life will not magically return to normal. This quarantined way of life is something we’re stuck with for at least the near future.
The first article I ever wrote for “The Wake” was also about COVID, a piece about everything I’d taken for granted in pre-pandemic times. Some of those things have returned to me—the RecWell, for one—but many things have not. Chief among those luxuries still denied (other than 2 AM Burger King runs) is that ever-elusive human connection.
I think I’ve been able to escape the worst of the effects of isolation on my mental health; I’m not as extroverted as others and I have roommates and family to talk to. Even so, this oppressive lifestyle has taken its toll. After all, Zoom calls, Instagram photos, and group chats are no real replacements for genuine face-to-face interaction.
COVID-19 spreads at significantly lower rates outdoors, a fact that many people have exploited to maintain some semblance of their relationships. Whether it be spreading out a blanket on the grass of the mall or playing spikeball on the lawn of MacNamara, the pleasant weather of summer and fall has given me the chance to engage friends while giving COVID the tribute it demands.
Today, the verdant grasses of campus have been stifled by an omnipresent blanket of snow. Slick and hazardous ice makes it so that pedestrians have to watch their steps no matter where they go. Gone are the T-shirts and shorts, replaced by pants and jackets. Gone are the laughing couples picnicking and the gaggles of friends tossing a frisbee around, replaced by snow-people chipped away by wind. Humans follow the law of nature more often than not, and we know well to hibernate when winter wraps its cold embrace around the land.
Of course, any Minnesotan knows that this little flurry is nothing but a prelude to the true behemoth that is our winter. I fully expect temperatures to hit negative twenty and for blizzards to make walks difficult, our unforgiving climate offering little optimism to those who long for the warmth of spring. And then even the brief normalcy of human interaction that we sought in summer will be stripped away by the environment. As winter comes upon us, we will be forced to retreat to the artificial warmth of our homes and buildings, huddling away under blankets and heaters to wait out the darkest months of the year.
As our population collectively moves indoors, COVID will get the chance to amplify its transmission many times over. The probability of yet another wave of infection, especially amongst an apathetic community, is so likely it’s almost certain. Places like South Africa and Australia, which have already had winter, have seen resurgences of COVID because of these conditions.
Many people are prepared to make the sacrifices necessary to fight COVID through the Winter, but I also fear many are not. When I walk past Sally’s on weekends, I see a long line of people wearing various degrees of masks eager for regular social interaction. The first Gopher football game of the season gave rise to a number of massive parties and gatherings, each harboring the possibility of becoming a superspreader event. Many have grown fatigued with the quarantine. Some have done a mental calculus, and concluded that their own health is an acceptable risk for them to be able to see friends again. Generally, these calculations do not factor in the health of the community.
So winter presents a lose-lose scenario. In all likelihood, there will be a resurgence of COVID amongst our community, sparked by indoor transmissions and a lack of social distancing. But even those who do isolate themselves will be afflicted by a different kind of ailment, the mental cost of loneliness.
Although this article was born out of dread towards the pandemic winter, I would still like to end it on a bit of optimism. I have no doubt that many people are similarly apprehensive about the coming months, and there’s enough pessimism in the news cycles anyways.
Even through the cold and dark, seek whatever ways are possible to maintain your social connections. Zoom calls, Discord, and the magic of social media can be partial substitutes for conversation, even if they are not perfect replacements. Build a snowman or take a walk. Have a snowball fight or gather around a fire pit. Form a bubble of acquaintances around you, such that you can be alone together. And at the end of the day, remember to cherish your friends and family, using them as support at all times.
I’m not one to wax poetic about the immortality of the human spirit, but I’ll just say that this too shall pass. After all, the seasons will change with or without us, and soon enough summer will be upon us as well.