So, we cut down our Christmas tree this past weekend. While wearing shorts and Hawaiian shirts. My kids were so confused, because typically, there’s snow when we get our tree. At the very least, it’s cold. But it was 60 degrees this year. In mid December.

I keep telling myself that Decembers are usually warm and really, the first day of winter isn’t until the 22nd, so there’s time for the weather to turn around. I look in the mirror and tell my self, “It’s gonna be a killer ski season. El Nino,” I say. But honestly, I’d just like to have a little reassurance from Mother Nature. Some snow flakes on the 10-day forecast. Some frost on my car when I wake up in the morning. Most years, I’d already be skiing by now. Sigh.

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The one good thing about this unusually warm December is that the asshole rednecks I grew up with are quiet on Facebook. Every time there’s a winter storm in the South, I can count on a bunch of jackasses from high school chiming in with something like, “so much for global warming.” It’s a small consolation, but at least I don’t have to listen to that rhetoric for another month or so.

Even though the rhododendron in my front yard are about to bloom again, I’m still optimistic that this will be an epic winter. El Niño.

So I’ve been training to ensure that I can make the most of the deep pow that’s gonna blanket the Southern Appalachians. Jump rope, box jumps, whiskey shots. That’s right, it’s coming–Whiskey Wednesday, that beautiful night where me and a bunch of other dudes descend on the local hill for some mid week fellowship. Everyone brings a flask, and we all ski until the whiskey is gone. Chinese Downhill rules apply. It is a beautiful celebration of manmade snow and God-given powder that defines the winter for many of us. Stay tuned for more updates about whiskey Wednesday on this blog and watch for live tweets with the hashtag #breckenwolf.

Until then, drink whiskey and pray for snow.