So now it is October, that month when we see the days grow shorter. (Interesting phrase: do they shrink longer come spring?) In my part of the country, you can swear you smell leaves burning even in the middle of the big city, and cool breezes begin to dominate the air. Pumpkin spice is to be found in coffee, cupcakes, and garbage bags, and gaudy face paint suddenly becomes respectable, whether the cause is Halloween or football.
And a particular chunk of the populace starts planning how to get out of here.
Moving to another place with the seasonal change was once the sole possession of the rich: kings could move to Winter Palaces or the landed gentry would shift their activities from their city homes to their country estates, where perhaps wood for the fireplace was cheaper because they owned the trees out there. But as time passed, and particularly by the time the postcard was dominating our communications systems, developers had taught the lower classes that getting out of town was perfectly affordable.
There were many reasons to accept this opinion. Getting down into the warmer climes meant enjoying the warm sun (we thought that was healthy in those days) and seeing a few sights you wouldn’t see at home. So the trip would be good for you both physically and intellectually.
And then there was the luxury of dining on foods you couldn’t find at home (along with the expectation that you would have to do none of the cooking or dishwashing while you were at it.)
But the MAIN reason to become a Snowbird and migrate south for the winter was the thrill of sending postcards to say “I’m down here! And YOU aren’t!”
Now in lands where the change of the seasons is really obvious, we have winters which are short of snow. Droughts are not unknown in January and February. But on postcards from Snowbird Lands, the north never sees a snowfall of less than eight inches, generally with high winds. (Wind chill hadn’t been named yet, but we knew what it was. Also note that on postcards, no matter how cold and snowy it may get, the pinup girls seldom wear much on their legs. Only men wear boots. Ah, didn’t notice him until I mentioned him, did you? That’s my point.)
And houses in the North lack any sort of central heating. (Mind you, in the days before central plumbing OR central heating, when a bedroom included a basin of water for washing your face in the morning, it was necessary to break the crust of ice on top to get the sleep dust out of your eyes. Postcard artists, always the traditionalists, kept northerners in this sort of home well into mid-century.)
This card from the Fifties actually rubs it in from two different directions. Not only do YOU, up North, have to shovel to get to work, but YOU have to go to work, while I lie out on the beach all day.
There were only two ways for the person stranded in the snow to fight back. One was to take a vacation later in the winter and send such postcards to their friends who had returned to Snow and the City. The other was to wait until summer and send one of these.
Blogsy Babbles 