Every week – it seems like every Thursday – we find ourselves grappling with the aftereffects of yet another snowstorm. It’s like the movie “Groundhog Day,” except without any of Bill Murray’s wit and whimsy.

It’s not uncommon in this neck of the woods to receive substantial snowfalls in March and April. I have even seen it snow in May although that’s a freak occurrence, on par with spotting Elvis in the Men’s Underwear aisle at Walmart.

The problem with this current winter is its unrelenting nature. It has been gnawing at us constantly for lo these many months, like a puppy who has discovered the immense joy of chewing on his master’s new Gucci loafers.

Most winters have multiday thaws that shrink the mounds of white stuff we have piled up. Not so this winter. We are running out of places to store our snow. What began as humble little heaps have grown into immense mountain ranges. Everywhere you look you see miniature versions of the Rockies.

On the plus side, this winter has been great for tow truck operators and folks who are in the snow removal business. Nothing is either all good or all bad.

You might be motoring along the freeway on a snowy day and pass multiple vehicles that have made unexpected detours into the ditch. Each vehicle is its own little tragedy, plans that have been scuttled, meetings that will go unattended. Each driver will now have a dramatic new story to share with family and friends.

You might be tempted to indulge in a little schadenfreude as you pass these inadvertent snow surfers, telling yourself that they were probably going too fast and congratulating yourself for your superior winter driving skills. Be we know better than to do this because we have all been there.

We’re all familiar with the way your heart drops into your shoes as your vehicle’s wheels begin to slide. Things are no longer under your control; you have been abruptly transformed from bold pilot to hapless passenger.

You have purchased a ticket and given it to a scruffy carnival ride operator who has neck tattoos and whose sneering grin reveals that he’s missing several major teeth. The so-called “safety” bar has clanked into position and the ride has swung into motion with a jarring jolt.

Your vehicle lurches to a halt and you sit there for a moment, stunned, gaping at the snow that has so cruelly cast you into the ditch. You suddenly feel grateful to be alive. You realize that you’re now at the mercy of a tow truck operator whom you’ve never met. You worry that he could be a guy who has neck tattoos and is missing some teeth. But it doesn’t matter how he might look; he’s still your angel of mercy.

We endured a winter similar to our current one when my brother Kevin was in college. He related how one especially pernicious snowstorm shut down the campus.

Kevin and his roommates were hanging around their rental unit with nothing much to do. Motorists were becoming mired in the snow all over town, so Kevin and his buddies donned all the clothing that they owned and went out into the storm.

They would walk until they found stuck motorists and offer to push them out. Kevin and his pals were young and strong and able to extricate every car they encountered.

The motorists often expressed their gratitude with cash. The drivers were glad that they didn’t have to wait for a tow truck; Kevin and his roommates were glad to have money for the essentials, namely, pizza and beer.

March 21st marks the beginning of spring. That’s a cruel taunt this year, with our glacier-like snowpack and Arctic overnight lows.

Sundogs are a sign of deeply cold weather. A pair of sundogs were shadowing the sun the other morning when we should have been able to see geese flying north and robins listening for worms on the lawn.

The 21st of March of 1981 was special because that’s the day my wife and I marched down the aisle and got hitched.

You’re playing winter roulette when you choose a March wedding date. But the day was so balmy that my wife was able to run around and make last-minute wedding preparations in shirtsleeves.

After our wedding dance, we dashed back to our farm to change clothes only to discover that our Holstein cows had gotten out.

So, I had to chase cows and fix fence on our wedding night. But I was grateful because at least it wasn’t snowing.

— Jerry’s book, Dear County Agent Guy, is available at http://Workman.com and in bookstores nationwide