Of all the so-called Quebec climate specialists who impress immigrants with the rigors of winter, my favorites are those who tell stories like: “When I was little, the snowbanks were quite a bit higher that today! »
Once, I met a taxi driver, in the Gaspé, to whom I put under his nose what I considered a mystification of my intelligence. It was in the mid-1990s, when I continued my very long apprenticeship in Nordicity. I learned the hard way, between Gaspé and Rimouski, that having a few winters under your belt is necessary to grasp the big difference between freezing your ass and farting at the fret. The latter is my favorite Quebec lexical particularity.
While in the rest of the Francophonie, we die, we die, we pass away, we die or we break our pipe, Quebecers have arrived with this colorful and poetic speech that allows us to better visualize rigor mortis: farting at the hoop. I must admit that the first time I heard this expression, it was the trail of the lumberjack in his woodshed in the middle of January, after a hearty meal of pea soup, which presented itself to me. When you start to be frozen like a piece of shit, it’s better to heat yourself with gas so as not to fart at the hoop, which means freezing yourself or dropping dead. Not to be confused with dropping dead. If dropping dead is life, dropping dead is Viagra.
I come back to my story, my Gaspé winter encounter with this taxi driver. When I got into his car, despite the fact that Boucar was black and wore a multicolored African tuque, he still found a way to get me started:
– You do not look like a little guy here, you!
– Oh, it shows that much?
“Are you from here?”
– No sir !
— Do you think it’s fair in Quebec?
– Yes sir !
“Consider yourself lucky, my man!” When I was a kid, the snowbanks were a lot higher than they are today!
The following week, I came across the same taxi again and, believe it or not, the gentleman didn’t seem to recognize me. He tells me :
“Are you from here?”
– No sir !
— Do you think it’s fair in Quebec?
– Yes sir !
“Consider yourself lucky, my man!” When I was a kid, the snowbanks were a lot higher than they are today!
When, on our third meeting, I set foot in his taxi, it was I who started the discussion:
“Do you think the Gaspesian sucks?”
– Oh yes, my man!
“Consider yourself lucky!” Me, when I was little, the snowbanks touched the electrical wires.
Completely surprised, the taxi driver slowed down, turned to me and said with a smile:
– Ah ben tabarn … you really come from here, you!
However, far from being a native, I simply wanted to let him know that I knew a little about the theory of relativity. When you’re a little kid, snow banks can get really high pretty quickly. But, as we grow older, what seemed giant to us miraculously becomes less impressive. I often told this somewhat fictionalized anecdote in a previous show and it made people react. Spectators convinced that I was in the field sent me photos of snowbanks from their youth to prove to me that it is not just a question of relativity.
We have to admit today that something abnormal is happening. We certainly no longer have the winters we used to have, the scientists also say.
Data from weather stations prove that winters are less cold and shorter. Yes, there are rare exceptions to the rule, but the trend remains scientifically undeniable. These are the conclusions of the Ouranos interdisciplinary network, which brings together several hundred researchers, experts and other actors interested in climatology and climate change.
Otherwise, the famous “we no longer have the winters we used to have” is not the sole result of nostalgic or exaggerated minds. This assertion deserves to be considered, because it is based on a well-founded observation. If this warming trend continues, we will soon no longer have the joy of farting at the fret or farting on the badly deiced sidewalks of Montreal.
In our country, people who have seen snow for a long time also have things to say about climatic upheavals. They represent living references that deserve to be heard and their verdict seems unanimous on the subject: we no longer have the winters we used to have and the snow banks are certainly less and less impressive.
Even the sixth dan sash that I have become, courtesy of 32 winters in the body, begins to sing that we don’t have the winter we used to have anymore. And unfortunately, it’s not because we fart less and less on the fret that Quebec will become a paradise where everyone is on fire.