Isn’t there something magical about the weather process we call snow? You look out the window and there are millions of different shaped flakes falling from the sky and suddenly changes happen. First of all, and probably the most noticeable, is the silence that hushes so much of the noise of the day. Then everything we see out our window or from the porch begins to change color. If it was dirty it soon looks wiped clean. If it was scarred the snow finds a way to fill up the ugly gash. Snow flakes catch in the kittens eyelashes giving the little creatures a come hither look, I guess. I really don’t know what makes for a ‘come hither’ invitation in the cat world.
This magical transformation of everything that the snow graces does not last very long. Soon you will see tiny tracks of mice, squirrels, rabbits — many small creatures — as they crisscross your backyard looking for something to eat. While we may be entranced by the metamorphorsis happening on this snowy morning our animal neighbors find yet another obstacle in their constant battle for something to eat. Then we humans break out the snow shovels and begin creating paths of escape from our warm houses. Once you tromp, shovel or play in this glorious white expanse it loses all its pristine charm.
The time to enjoy the magic is now passed and human resourcefulness takes over. Because big yellow buses do not travel on snowy roads the rare announcement, NO School, frees hundreds of pairs of feet eager to trample the snow cover. Sleds are drug out of the basement or garage, huge snow forts rise up for monumental snowball fights, icy tracks are pounded down as the sleds with their snow-suited human cargo fly down rolling hills or blocked streets. Hot cocoa simmers on the stove waiting for the snow warriers to shed boots, hats, mufflers and mittens on the back porch.
In my growing up years in Appalachia there were very few snows and because we walked to school there was certainly nothing as freeing as a Snow Day. I do remember one deep snow and the look of the very steep mountain where I lived. Skiing came to mind as I remember. Now of course I had never been skiing, did not have skis and did not know the first thing about the ancient sport except that in the movies it looked like exciting fun. My friend and I took some barrel staves and tied them to our boots and decided we were going to ski down that mountain. Of course after about 50 feet the improvised skis failed and there we were flying, squealing, stumbling, and rolling head over heels down the steep grade.
Somehow or other we managed to get to the bottom where we crashed into the backyard gate. There were no broken bones, a miracle, and we were so wrapped up no serious gashes or scratches, but there was the memory which was enduringly unbreakable. The adventure left us with the sure knowledge that if we ever got the chance we would try to go skiing for real. Truthfully, the memory of that skiing attempt is all we ever got. We grew up and responsibly assumed the duties of adults who knew skiing was for another place and time and not in the cards for us.
If you are young, strong and have a bit of daring in your psyche, I hope you will grab an opportunity to strap on skis and sail down a snowy mountain heart racing and nose freezing. It seems such a thrilling thing to do. If so, please tell me about it someday.
(0) comments
Welcome to the discussion.
Log In
Keep it Clean. Please avoid obscene, vulgar, lewd, racist or sexually-oriented language.
PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR CAPS LOCK.
Don't Threaten. Threats of harming another person will not be tolerated.
Be Truthful. Don't knowingly lie about anyone or anything.
Be Nice. No racism, sexism or any sort of -ism that is degrading to another person.
Be Proactive. Use the 'Report' link on each comment to let us know of abusive posts.
Share with Us. We'd love to hear eyewitness accounts, the history behind an article.