Given our printing schedule, I’m writing this column on Monday afternoon, a very lovely Monday afternoon to be exact, with highs near 60. It’s almost short sleeve weather as the weather is falling just short of giving me an outright case of spring fever.

However, even as I enjoy the sunny Monday afternoon, there is a foreboding feeling in the air and a dark cloud on the horizon. I can almost cut the tension with a knife. I can see the pure fear in the eyes of my fellow DeKalb countians (well, I still live in Warren County but you’ve adopted me so I’ll take editorial license). Instead of enjoying this late January blessing, folks are scurrying about, flocking to the grocery stores, buying up the milk and bread. What could be wrong on such a beautiful day? What evil this way comes? Should we run for the bomb shelters? Duck and cover?

Okay, this is where you transplanted Yankees begin to scoff at us native Southerners. Snow is a comin’.

“What? A foot? Two feet? How much is coming?” a guy who recently settled here from Buffalo asks. “Surely this must be one heck of a nor’easter for folks to be in such a tizzy.”

With a deep sigh I shake my head. “Nah, not quite a foot?” I sheepishly respond, knowing the guy has never seen Snowmageddon here in middle Tennessee.

“How much then?” he asks.

“Well,” I respond. “They say we could get a couple of inches, maybe three.”

The guy looks at me like I’m joking but soon realizes from my straight face that I’m being legit.

“All this for two inches?” he breaks out into a belly laugh. “That’s nothing. We get a couple of feet from lake effect snow all the time back in Buffalo.”

I throw up my hands. “You’re not in Buffalo anymore, Bill,” I cut him off. “This is serious business down here. The place pretty well shuts down when the snow starts falling.”

The guy, still not believing what I’m saying, cocks his head. “What are all these folks doing, buying milk and bread?” he wonders. “Are they going to make milk sandwiches?”

I give him a stern look. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” I snap back. “I’ve had some mighty delicious milk sandwiches in my day. Besides, I’m not getting out to go to the store if it’s slick.”

Shaking his head, Bill gives me a smirk. “Well, I won’t be afraid to get out,” he huffed. “Back in Buffalo they plow a path in the road and we drive through it.”

I shake my head knowingly. “You have at that,” I challenged. “But up in Buffalo you don’t have Billy Bob slip-sliding his way to the beer store on bald tires after a 12-pack behind the wheel of his old Ford truck. It’s not the snow, it’s who else is driving in the snow.”

Bill gave me a long look, realizing I was right. “Take my advice,” I patted him on the shoulder. “Stay at home and catch up on your binge watching of Game of Thrones and enjoy a milk sandwich. Oh, and welcome to winter in Tennessee.”