When the weather prognosticators foretold of a winter marked by heavy snow and bitter cold, I was reluctant to believe them. I didn’t want to get my hopes up for a white Christmas only to find myself engulfed in a dismal drizzle I thought I’d left behind in the valley years ago.

When I heard them talking about a 10-year cycle and how we were due for another big one, I suspected their guesses might prove accurate. This is our 11th winter in Central Oregon, and I well remember the snowfall that first year.

It began innocently enough, to the delight of our Thanksgiving guests, and piled up a whopping 3 or so feet of the white stuff. We reveled in the notion of having conjured it up special to add ambiance to the occasion. We hadn’t prepared ourselves, however, for such an enthusiastic display of winter wonder and found ourselves trekking to the store — newbies that we were — to buy snow shovels, ice melt and bagged sand. What began as joyful holiday merriment on Turkey Day turned into The Great White Pain by New Year’s Eve. It took three months for every trace of winter’s abundance to vanish, and we were more than grateful to see it go.

Over the years, there have been the occasional catch-you-off-guard storms dramatically dumping a foot-high flurry in February or October, but none of the epic flake-makers that, like an uninvited relative, long overstay their welcome. When you have to walk your dog on a leash, in the dark, at bedtime, in the middle of a snow-plowed street, picking up their business in a bag as if you lived in a New York City apartment because the snow in your backyard is four times as tall as your dog and has created areas where she could easily escape over the 3-foot fence … you know you have too much snow!

As we head officially into winter, with no end in sight for our friend Frosty, I find myself looking for the silver lining. No flies. No mosquitoes. Holiday photos that look like postcards.

And though I’m not normally prone to claustrophobia, I must say having to pile layer upon layer of clothing and assorted winter paraphernalia over myself before heading out into single-digit weather has me a bit cranky. Where did I leave my gloves? Should I wear my snow boots? Which scarf should I take? And where do I put all this stuff when I get to my destination? I’m longing for flip-flops, shorts and a tank top!

But what would Oregon be if not for her seasons? We’d be just another Hawaii or Florida.

So for those of us who do choose to live in what I consider the most beautiful and diverse state in our nation, we’ll just have to make peace with Mother Nature and her cycles. Because, more than likely, eight months from now we will be wondering why it’s so darn hot out.

— Sana Hayes is a free spirit, as comfortable in a tiara as she is in pajamas. She writes to better encounter the radiant self in each of us. Contact her at cowgirlsana@gmail.com.