An old saying, one my grandfather often repeated, was "everybody complains about the weather, but nobody does anything about it." Grandpa was, of course, a farmer for much of his life, and farmers plan their days, their weeks, their seasons by the weather. One of the most common things you heard the old farmers that were my Grandpa's and my Dad's contemporaries talking about was the weather: "Think we'll get some rain tomorrow?"
We all watch the weather to some degree or another. We want to know what to expect. I reckon that's just how people are wired. But we also take a perverse pleasure in bad weather; not in the weather, so much, as our surviving it.
A lot of Americans are going to get the chance to do just that. There's a big snowstorm brewing that's going to cover a big swath of the lower 48.
A major, widespread, long-lasting winter storm will hammer parts of the South, Midwest and Northeast Friday through Monday with potentially damaging ice and heavy snow for millions from New Mexico and Texas to parts of New England. This storm will lead to widespread dangerous travel and its destructive South ice storm could lead to long-lasting power outages and tree damage.
The storm has been named Winter Storm Fern by The Weather Channel. According to The Weather Company forecasters, Fern could affect over 230 million in the U.S. with snow and/or ice, two-thirds of the nation's estimated population. Either heavy snow or ice is forecast for 33 states from the storm, from Arizona to the Midwest, South and New England.
❄️ Winter Storm Update ❄️
— NWS Weather Prediction Center (@NWSWPC) January 22, 2026
Here's the latest on the impending winter storm set to begin across the south-central U.S. on Friday. Confidence continues to increase for damaging ice accumulations across parts of the South. Preparations should be completed as soon as possible. pic.twitter.com/hv4NeUhM1V
That seems like quite a storm, but a quick look at history reminds us of what a real winter storm can look like. Here are three:
In 1888, the East Coast was hit by what people called the Great White Hurricane, but is more properly known as the Great Blizzard of 1888. From March 11th to the 14th, this storm paralyzed New York, Boston, and other eastern cities, dumping over 4 feet of snow in places, with drifts as high as 50 feet. Over 400 people died.
In 1993, the Storm of the Century slammed 26 U.S. states and parts of Eastern Canada, dumping as much as 3 feet of snow in less than 24 hours. Around 300 people died in the storm, and property damage was estimated at $6-10 billion.
Finally, in 1996, the Blizzard of 1996 dropped over 20 inches of snow across the northeastern U.S., with as much as 4 feet of the white stuff falling in some places. 73 died, and property damage was estimated at $400 million.
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I was fortunate, perhaps, to be living in other parts of the country for those last two. But growing up in Allamakee County, in Iowa's northeastern corner, we saw some doozies, not just winter storms but summer storms, too. Tornadoes didn't seem to come down in the narrow valley we lived in, but I remember summer thunderstorms that registered on the Richter scale. Usually, those summer storms broke a long, hot, humid spell, so we didn't mind so much. I do remember one real humdinger, though, when my cousin and I were walking back from fishing in the next valley over from my folks' place. In the pitch dark, we didn't really notice the heavy clouds moving in, or the muttering of thunder in those clouds, until a bolt of lightning hit a tree only a few yards away from where we were walking.
That's something that stays with a fella. The sudden, overwhelming flash of light, the rivulets of electricity jumping and sparking everywhere, followed almost instantaneously by a thunderclap that sounded like you were standing next to a 500-pound bomb going off.
We saw some serious winter storms, too, sometimes closing the road to our little valley for a week at a time. Even in the years we lived in Colorado, we saw some doozies; I remember the Denver blizzard of 2003, and the three Friday blizzards of 2006, called the Holiday Blizzards because they arrived the Friday of the week before Christmas, then on Christmas Eve, and finally on New Year's Eve. We were days shoveling and snow-blowing, and for several days, my rugged old Bronco with its heavily lugged tires was the only vehicle that could get in and out of the neighborhood. I put in a lot of volunteer time getting nurses and docs to their emergency room jobs.
We remember these things because there's a backhanded bragging done around them. When these storms are over and the white stuff has melted away (something that here, in the Great Land, usually happens about the end of May), we tell tales of how bad things were, perhaps realizing on some level that we are still, biologically, a creature of warm, sunny climes. But our brains enable us to live anywhere, and we remember these weather challenges like we remember all challenges that we have met and overcome - with pride.
So, you folks in the path of this story, stay in if you can, stay warm, and get those shoveling muscles warmed up. And remember this: If this is another of those historic storms on the way, it's another thing that you one day will be able to brag to your grandkids about.
