Ahh, Yamagata, a laid-back city of rice fields and apple trees. Roughly 200 miles north of Tokyo, Yamagata is far enough away to bear no trace of its noisy southern neighbor save for the sleepy shinkansen train station and the occasional tourist from the capital.

To put it subtly, not many airplanes fly over Yamagata. Local headlines are dominated by agricultural stories, school pageants and festival turnouts.

I thought this idyllic, low-key paradise would last forever, that my days would continue to consist of neighborly chatter, an occasional grocery run, and a weekend walk over to the castle ruins of Kajo Park to see the trees lined up on the path above the moat.

But my world has drastically changed. A simple errand is now a dangerous undertaking. Not content with just walking, I now skate about on the snow-covered sidewalks on my bike, rapidly learning to compensate for ice, mud and snow.

Mornings become strategy sessions in which I carefully plan shopping and work destinations depending on the latest weather predictions and the scarce daylight hours available. For months I wished for snow, and now here it is in full force. I've learned how to layer six shirts on at once, how to cinch my new snow boots tightly shut, and how I can walk from home to downtown without once picking up my feet off the ground. All this from someone who has lived in Florida most of his life; last week there, it was 80°F; Angie's family wore shorts and their neighbors ran the A/C all day.

Oh sure, ha ha, it's all very funny. Except, see, it's all part of Angie's secret plan, which she inadvertently divulged while talking in her sleep one night. She figures, since she wants to live somewhere tropical and I keep yapping on about how much I love snowy weather, winter in Yamagata (plus a few snow festivals thrown in to boot) should cure me of any future desire to live in a cold place.

I scoffed at said "plan" until last week when I marched through a blizzard to Kajo Park. Halfway there, my gloves ceased to offer any detectably protective feature whatsoever, and my fingers quickly went numb.

Apparently my cute red ski hat (with a tassel on top!) was not designed for weather typical of Dante's Inferno description of the ninth and final circle of hell. My ears succumbed and next to go was my nose. Onward I staggered, but considerably slower than before. I tried to take some measure of strength and confidence from the statue of Lord Mogami on his horse, in front of the Yamagata Castle ruins, but by now I was losing feeling in my legs.

In fact, I have to stop this story now, I'm shivering just thinking about it.