How often, exactly, does it snow enough in Pittsburgh for a proper snow day?

Not nearly as often in the childhood of Charles Dickens, who whether you realize it or not, shaped our image of rosy-cheeked schoolchildren tromping through snow drifts weeks before Christmas. In our cultural perception, we tend to imagine a winter of the likes of Charles Dickens. We don’t often think of the depressing, barren reality — at least here in Pittsburgh — of naked tree limbs and rotting leaves beneath grey skies, and freezing rain to boot.

Snow in the winter is part of our cultural mythology. It sticks with us because of how remarkably beautiful it is. It changes the way we view the world around us, turning unassuming hillsides into racetracks for plastic sleds, fields thick with snow into battlefields for great snowball wars, and our barren winter landscape into something a bit easier on the eyes.

Pittsburgh still lives with the memory of the 2010 “Snowmageddon,” which saw a truly colossal snowfall that shut down the city for days. But it doesn’t snow as much as it used to. The last two winters saw just 16.3 inches and 17.6 inches, respectively, compared to the historical average of about 44 inches of snow. The weather has also been warmer, with averages of around 36 to 38 °F instead of the historical average of around 32°C, meaning that even when it does precipitate, it’s often not snow, and whatever snow does fall, doesn’t stick around for long. Rarely, these days, does it snow enough to warrant a snow day, something that can at least in part be attributed to climate change.

But it did on the sixth of January, a day that has for four years lived in infamy in American history, and now perhaps a day that will live in infamy in the annals of WT history as well. Winchester Thurston should’ve had a snow day on January 6. Every single other school in Pittsburgh that I could find information about had a snow day. But WT, for reasons that still escape me and perhaps in a continued tradition of exceptionalism (which it never ceases to remind us of), refused to call a snow day.

If I were a mean one, I might say that WT has become akin to the Grinch, but instead of stealing Christmas, it stole a day of winter fun from hundreds of cherub-faced youths. Think of the snowballs that weren’t thrown, the sleds not ridden, the snow angels not made, the top hats that never bedighted spheres of stacked snow to bring snowmen to life.

As I sat in Dr. Naragon’s American Politics and Constitutional Law that afternoon, I could see through the window a group of children sledding down the hill next to the church. Their screams of joy, barely perceptible through a layer of foggy glass, sounded a Siren Song to my tired ears. I may love political science, but snow is another thing entirely. I’m sure that my classmates — especially those in the Lower and Middle School — would agree.

Why, precisely, was it so important that we not miss that solitary day of school? It’s not as if we’ve had a dearth of snow days in past years — only two last year, if I’m not mistaken, and one of them adulterated by online assignments, an “innovation” from pandemic days. Our schedule is intentionally designed to accommodate several unplanned absences.

What’s more important for WT’s young scholars? Getting one additional day of instruction, or having that quintessential childhood experience of waking up to the delightful surprise that instead of going to school, they have a snow day to enjoy? As writer Susan Orlean, author of The Orchid Thief, puts it, “A snow day literally and figuratively falls from the sky, unbidden, and seems like a thing of wonder.” A shame to stamp on it, to defile it, by imprisoning our children inside.

I believe in the right of all children to experience the snow day: To go outside and play in the snow until dusk, returning home only for cups of hot cocoa and and to let gloves dry on the radiators (though few homes have radiators these days), and shouting “Look mom!” before performing a death-defying feat of sledding artistry. (My own brother and I built rather impressive jumps in our youth — at the expense of purple bruises on our tailbones.)

I remember snow days from my childhood with fondness, and they meant more to me than any lesson in arithmetic or the alphabet. Besides, it’s unsafe to encourage more people to drive when the streets aren’t safe. And for many teachers and staff that have kids who don’t attend WT, quickly finding alternative childcare was a challenge, if not a burden. I have yet to speak to any student or teacher that thought the decision to not have a snow day was a good idea.

In fact, I received the enthusiastic support of every teacher with whom I spoke for writing this letter of grievance. Seemingly, they were not so concerned about the loss of the first day of classes after break. Does the administration presume to be better informed as to the needs of WT students than the teachers that interact with students every single day?

That’s not to say I don’t understand why we had school. In a sense, it’s a pain to cancel school. I don’t deny those logistical challenges. It’s also a pain to get to school when there is school after a snowfall. But my point, primarily, is that there is real value in having a snow day.

Snow days are not wasted days. America’s youth need to spend more time outside playing, not less. What better excuse than fresh snow to kick the kids outside? And most seniors — myself included — find themselves quite burnt out at the moment. Our break wasn’t spent resting, but rather (desperately, in my case) finishing college applications. I practically burned a hole in one of the seats at the Coffee Tree Roasters on Walnut.

At one point during the aforementioned Naragon class, I remarked to my friends that “I could be making waffles right now.” I also could’ve been walking my collie, Rosie, through the snowy trails of Schenley Park, communing with nature and accumulating lived experience as material for essays and poems in AP Literature. Enjoying the outdoors is not a waste of time. It’s indicative of a toxic, workaholic culture to claim otherwise.

How many more snow days will we have this year — or should I say, how many more days worthy of a snow day will we have? Because, as we’ve seen, it doesn’t seem that proper conditions are a sufficient cause alone for a snow day. There’s a reason why so many painters of history have so loved to paint the snow — from Pieter Bruegel the Elder’s Hunters in the Snow, to Winslow Homer’s The Fox Hunt, to Caspar David Friedrich’s Winter Landscape, to Monet’s The Magpie. 

Snow in the winter is beautiful and serene, a blanket of silence and serenity across a roaring, twisted concrete jungle of a city. Mary Oliver superbly captures the magic of snow in her poem “Snowy Night”: “Snow was falling, so much like stars filling the dark trees that one could easily imagine its reason for being was nothing more than prettiness.” It would be a shame not to enjoy it when we can, because the incoming administration (presidential, to specify) doesn’t appear to value winters nearly as much as I do.

Perhaps you think that my tone is too combative. (You should’ve seen the original draft!) Perhaps it may seem absurd to argue with such passion on the issue of snow days. Many of my readers will likely recall the winters of their youths, when they walked uphill both ways to school through three feet of snow with rocks in their shoes. They didn’t need no stinkin snow days! And aren’t there other, more important things going on? Who will play violins for the poor private school students that were tragically forced to go to school with a mere two-hour delay after a two-week long break? I recognize that.

But so long as they continue to bathe themselves with such effusive self-praise, I will continue to hold educational institutions like Winchester Thurston, institutions that profess to recognize the value of experiential learning and taking breaks, of experiencing the real world and enjoying time-honored traditions, to a high standard (after all, “exceptional” schools deserve “exceptional” standards). Surely the WT administration must see that, just as Henry IV of France knew that “Paris is worth a mass,” a snow day in the Paris of Appalachia is worth a missed class.

If you didn’t get that reference, you have just proven my argument that we need to bring back AP Euro. But that’s for another (soon to come) article.