The beauty of snow

I love snow. It reminds me of a time when the world was simple for me. I’d wake up to a land covered in white, where everything was sparkling new and beautiful. And, the only thing on the agenda for the day was to find the best mittens and a spare (before my siblings did), get dressed in my snowmobile suit (think Ralphie’s brother Randy in a Christmas Story) and head out with my favorite toy – my little sister.

We didn’t miss finding the best spot in the snow to plop down and make an angel. It was a challenge to try and keep all the snow surrounding the angel as pristine as possible, getting up and jumping out the impression we made. After this, we usually took our plastic yellow toboggans – the absolute best item for marathon sledding excursions over to Blaisdell’s hill. It was best to get there early before everyone tracked up the place. Lil Sis had a “snow boat” that was good for making a trail. But after, the light toboggans not only gave us the best speed, but made the climb back up the hill faster and easier. We were always careful not to walk up the sledding trail, so as not to spoil the speed we could achieve on the ride down. There was a dip in the hill, where a little “road” went across. With “fast” snow, we’d jump the road, fly onto the second hill and land in the ditch. Sometimes the ditch had more water than others, so it took skill to climb out without getting soaked and needing to return home for another pair of mittens. We would spend hours doing this - until we were cold or hungry or both. When we came in the house, we’d stick our gloves, hats, scarves and boots in the cracks of the radiator to dry the snow and warm up the garments. Mom always had lunch ready for us. Usually it was chicken noodle soup (doctored up Lipton’s from a box), PBJ sandwiches and hot chocolate.

After lunch, we’d get dressed and head out again. By this time, my brother was usually up and about and ready to torment us. He’d join us in the snow and convince us to make snow forts out of the snow piled at the edges of the driveway. We’d make two, one on each side of the drive, by carving out the middle and building the “walls” around the edges. We always made “slots” knowing the forts really were just barricades for the snowball fight that would start without a moments notice. Big Bro would try to enlist one of us for his side. While it was the best for self preservation to be on Big Bro’s side, Lil Sis and I usually didn’t let our alliance falter. Big Bro was the world’s best snowball thrower. He would lob a snowball at you. Then as you tried to catch it, he would throw a fast ball, pelting you before you were able to catch the lob. You’d think we’d be smart enough to catch on to his tricks but somehow, he’d manage to do it. He didn’t just throw snowballs, either. He would suck the moisture out of his perfectly round projectiles, creating ice balls. They didn’t break apart on impact. If he were so lucky as to hit you in the face, they created welts that lasted for at least a day. The snowball war would usually last until Lil Sis or I got hurt. Because even if we tried a coordinated assault, he’d always seem to win.

If it was good packing snow, we’d make a snow man… collecting gravel for the eyes and mouth and stealing a carrot (when mom wasn’t in the kitchen) for the nose. He’s have tree branches for arms and we’d dress him up in our old hat, scarf, mittens and even boots. We wouldn’t usually make it to dinner time, coming in to warm up with more hot chocolate and to play a game, like Payday. Lil Sis and I never really competed when we played. If one of us was running out of cash, we’d loan the other some money (interest free) so we could keep playing. If one of us got a bad roll or card that would bankrupt us, we’d have a “do over”. No one quite understood why one of us didn’t try to “win” but we liked playing our own version better.

After dinner, we’d usually head out to Grandma and Grandpa’s house. They only lived a few blocks away. When the roads were still covered in snow, our faithful companion, High Lord Nyack, the Samoyed, would pull us in the snow boat. Grandma would always have cookies and treats for all of us (Nyack included). We’d tell her of our adventures in the snow and play cards. Grandma always cheated, but we didn’t seem to mind. On the way home, Nyack would pull us up Grandma’s street but then stop, as if an idea just occurred to him. We’d beg and cajole him to keep going, but he’d just stand and look at us. When we’d finally give in and start home on foot, he’d climb onto the snow boat for a ride of his own. We’d look at each other and say, “well, it’s only fair.”

If it wasn’t too late, Mom would let us play for “a little longer, pllllleeeeasse!” outside. We’d eat icicles and any “clean snow” we found. We’d take our sleds down our “little hill” in the back yard. We’d try to avoid the raspberry bushes. Although, much to our mother’s discovery in the spring, this was not always the case. We thought it was great fun when we landed in the creek. We would “skootch” the sled over the edge, if we landed close to it, giggling until we hand gone over the edge and landed mid creek. When mom would yell for us to come in, we’d take “one more quick ride” and run to the house for another dose of hot chocolate. We’d fall asleep exhausted, praying for more snow and schools to be closed the next day.

Now that I’m supposedly grown up, I still love the snow. I pretend I’m making a snow fort when I shovel the drive way. I still plop down and make snow angels and whenever possible, I take a ride down the (very small) hill in my own back yard. It isn’t quite the same without my favorite toy, but it is still as beautiful and wonderful as I remember. And, for those few precious moments, life is simple once more.