We drove home from dinner last week in a whiteout. Other than some discussion over whether high beams were more effective than low beams to combat the oncoming flurry, the drive was unremarkable - we had four-wheel drive, snow tires, and a capable driver. Our biggest concern was what time we would need to be at the chair lift in the morning to get first tracks.
Storms like these make for sensational footage on the weather channel, but to those of us who live here, it was just another Wednesday night in February. Winter storms, and the snow they bring, are why we live here.
Everyone knows the image of a smiling bundled-up child making a snow angel or building a carrot-nosed, stick-armed snowman - but that is just the tip of the snow pile when it comes to the primal joy of playing in the snow.
Growing up, we would tromp through the woods tugging our sleds by their frayed rope tethers, our loyal German Shepherd keeping his mittened charges in check, and meet the gang at the neighborhood sledding hill. Some Saturdays, my parents would load up the station wagon and drive to the town pond where we would plop down on the frozen bank to lace up hand-me-down skates before heading into the melee of pick-up hockey games, ice capades performances, or scrappy games of tag.
How many generations of children have taken on winter’s engineering challenges, oblivious that daylight had turned to dusk while they packed snow into banked turns and jumps on a sledding hill or constructed snowball fight arenas to be improved and fortified over weeks. In our neighborhood, the remnants of those snow forts would last into April, when the crocuses would finally poke through the garden beds.
Even my father, whom I did not consider to be much fun, found joy in winter. When he was a teenager, demands of the farm would take priority in spring, summer, and fall. Winter, however, was playtime. In his diaries from those years, he enthuses over skating parties, snowball fights, and clearing bushes from the creek to enlarge the skating rink in the woods.
Even animals, at least domesticated ones who can retreat to a warm house and bowl full of kibble, embrace the rush of fresh snow. Is there anything more joyful than a dog bounding through the woods or an open field in fresh snow?
In another month, I’ll be sick of it and looking for those crocuses. They will be here soon enough. For now, I’ll enjoy a few more storms to bundle up my inner child and get outside to play in the snow.
We noticed my next door neighbor's crocuses coming up today! A little early! Hope you are well.
I miss it.