After coming into my second winter in NH here are a few takeaways from a southern man

After a winter and a half in New Hampshire—and two very personal, full-speed introductions to the frozen ground—I have learned some things. Important things. Sacred things. Things they don’t put in the welcome packet when you cross the state line.

First off, this land will humble you.

The cold has zero respect for your résumé, your intentions, or how tough you think you are.

The ice don’t negotiate.

And the ground will absolutely reach up and remind you you’re made of meat.

You don’t survive up here on hope and positive vibes.

You survive with equipment, humility, and a willingness to laugh at yourself while laying flat on your back wondering if your hip just filed for early retirement.

You need a leaf blower—because these trees shed like they’re paid by the pound, and because blowing things away feels better than raking your regrets.

You need a snow blower—because pride will get you a shovel, but wisdom will get you inside with your fingers still attached.

You need good bourbon—not to get drunk (okay… sometimes), but to warm the soul, steady the hands, and remind you that life still has some sweetness left in it after the snow has had its say.

You need a good woman—the kind who watches you limp back inside, shakes her head, and still loves you like you’re not an absolute liability. The kind who makes a house feel like shelter and not just a place where the heat works.

And you need a couple solid friends—the rare kind—who check on you, laugh with you (not just at you), and would absolutely help you up… after they snap a picture.

Everything else is optional.

Ego freezes solid.

Pride slips and falls hard.

And winter don’t care how long you stare at it.

But with those five things?

You’ll survive.

Cold. Sore. Laughing a little harder at yourself than you used to.

Still standing.

Still grateful.

Still dumb enough to think, “Hell, I’ve got this.”