Time for another word challenge! It was so much fun to read the great pieces we got last time. Just to recap, I’ll give everyone a word and you, in the comments, do a quick free-write of a paragraph or two with your best interpretation of the word. I’ll do mine below.
This month’s word is…snow.
I grew up near the Canadian border, in the upper peninsula of Michigan, which means nothing except that I know how -300 degrees feels. I grew up doing all the things regular kids do, riding bikes, building tree forts, exploring forests for bugs and snakes, and sledding off my roof.
What? You didn’t do that?
I have very clear memories of the first snowfall of each winter, somewhere around 37 feet of snow would pour out of the sky, which would almost always allow us by Christmas-time to climb out the second story bedroom window and sled off the porch roof into the front yard. I’ve questioned these memories sometimes, assuming they must have been a childhood folly (or the beginning of a serious mental illness), but I’ve seen pictures of us doing it — standing on the porch roof with our sleds, swooshing straight onto the snow and into the yard.
I now live in a place that thinks snow is the devil. It snows. It melts. It spits a little more snow, only to taunt me with 50 degree weather the next day. I cannot describe my sadness. I’d give anything to need a door on the second story of my house again.
I love snow. Having grown up in the northwest I remember fondly the rare occasion we’d get an inch or two and my brothers and sister would excitedly gather around the radio anticipating the blessed moment when the district would finally call “Snow Day!”
Now I live along the Wasatch front and I applaud how we carry on about our daily business as if several inches or even a foot or more are beyond our notice. However, the other day when it took me over 30 minutes to drive my daughter to Jr. High just over a mile away from my home, during which time a school bus slid through a stop sign and could have hit us, I thought twice about that attitude.
Perhaps there are days when it would just be better if everyone could ignore the clock on the wall, curl up in a warm quilt with a cup of premium hot chocolate and watch through the window as the snowflakes fall–at least until after the snowplow has completed its rounds.
My companion and I had just finished teaching a Ukranian family the first discussion. The family consisted of a father, mother, and teenage daughter. We had the discussion in the humble home of a single sister in our tiny branch in the Czech Republic. She also lived with her two teenage daughters and elderly mother. This little farmhouse was packed with people. She had taken in the Ukranian family to board with her as she needed the extra income, and they (starting out in a new country looking for work) needed a place to stay. This sister was a voracious missionary and immediately had us teaching them within days of them moving in. It was around Christmas time and I remember trying desperately to teach them the Gospel, but we didn’t speak Ukrainian…we barely spoke Czech as it was, but you would have never known. The spirit worked through us and I have never felt that same feeling again…it knew no language. It was an indescribable warmth and feeling of love and understanding. We left that evening after finishing our discussion in the middle of a huge snow fall. The fields were covered in white and the flakes fell slowly, heavily onto our dark coats as we made our way back to the train station. I remember being quiet for a long time, and then stopping, looking at my companion and seeing that she had tears streaming down her face as well. I suggested we pray…right there in the middle of that field, snow falling on our shoulders, thanking our Heavenly Father for such a glorious experience and beautiful moment in time surrounded by stillness and light that I will never forget.
The sight of newly fallen snow, not yet marred by human endeavor, following an overnight fall, is so serene and peaceful it brings to mind words from the hymn The Wintry Day Descending to Its Close (#37 in the Hymn book).
The first verse evokes a certain nostalgia not only for a remembered past, but a longing for an unremembered time eons ago, and a homesickness for a future in an unseen place.
The words, “Pale through the gloom the newly fallen snow wraps in a shroud the silent earth below/As tho ’twere mercy’s hand had spread the pall,/A symbol of forgiveness unto all.” coupled with the music evoke a response that makes mercy’s hand real and healing. And, indeed the life giving moisture contained in the snow is another manifestation of mercy in a cruel world. It is life giving and healing.
So when everything is delayed and it early morning, all the flaws and ugliness are gone. The beautiful white has hidden the imperfections on the ground and in the trees just as the mercy of forgiveness covers our own.
By noon tire tracks and foot prints will change it. The exhaust from vehicles struggling up the hill will have stained the white to brown. There will be no snow plows for many hours. Alas, its beauty is only transitory. All that is left is the longing. Only the melting or a new snow fall will be able to wipe the damage brought about by a life that goes on.
I have mixed feelings about snow. Growing up in Southern California, snow had a somewhat mythical quality. One of the first books I remember learning how to read was called “Snow” and talked about sledding, snowballs, igloos, and all kinds of other fascinating things. My parents grew up in Wyoming and would often talk about how glad they were to be free of the curse of 40-below mornings and blizzards in May. Then we moved to Idaho when I was eight years old. It was the middle of November, and all of us kids woke up at six-thirty in the morning to a snowstorm. I remember running out and playing in the motel parking lot in our pajamas. We tried to scrape the inch or so of slush off the cars and throw it at each other.
We only lived in Idaho for a few years before my parents decided to move us back to California. I have many fond memories of my time there, and many involve playing outside in the snow. At the same time, it was a difficult time for our family. We moved to three different houses in two years. My parents almost got divorced. I developed severe insomnia and stomach problems from stress. When I think of snow I think of my first experiences with it in Idaho. And even though I have lived for many years where there is winter, I think the idea of snow still bothers me a little because it reminds me the cold, confusing time my family spent in Idaho.
What is snow? I know the definition of the word, “precipitation in the form of small white ice crystals formed directly from the water vapor of the air at a temperature of less than 32°F (0°C),†but, some words, like emotions, need to be felt to be understood.
I have never seen snow fall, never caught a flake on my tongue, and never attempted an angel. I have never used the cloak of snow to ride a sled, ski down a mountain, or build a snowman. For me, snow is like the moon: something I’ve seen in the distance, but have never traveled on.
snow. I know what snow is. it’s the shredded bits of plastic or soap we drop on actors from a tumbling bin. it sells tomato soup in commercials and Love Found in chick movies.
we don’t have snow, really–so I don’t really believe in it. I was seven when I first saw them filming at t.v. chase on my walk home from school. Later I saw snow sifted on actors wearing sweaters in the 80 degree weather, aided by hot lights and white reflecting umbrellas. snow is the illusion we sell to people in other parts of the country. It keeps our parents employed as editors, assistant producers, and caterers. near as I can tell, snow is some kind of emptiness that we can sell the escape from, or the adventure through. an emptiness that i need not fear, growing up in los angeles on the other side of the camera.
On the wrong side of the cold one-pane window, I stand watching. Each stuffed inside two pairs of Levis because mom insisted, all my brothers are outside in the snow. Davey and Mark’s fortress is complete, and their snowball mound is huge. Thirty feet away, on the other side of the yard, Matt and Kevin have given up on their fort and are furiously forming snowballs.
I know what’s going to happen. No surprise. The little boys are going to be creamed. Smashed. And at least two of my brothers will come in crying with a bloody nose, or maybe a bloody lip.
And I’m not allowed out. But if I was, I’d probably help the other side, this time.
Can I just say I never realized how much I took snow for granted?
And that the giant fluffy flakes that fell this afternoon were more noticed and appreciated because of what I’d read here today?
And, speaking of snow, this story warmed my heart.
You know how beautiful everything looks in Utah right after it snows? The trees hold the snow on their limbs, slightly bending from the weight. I love that quiet moment when the snow has stopped and the air seems insulated from noise and chaos. I always get the snow melt blues when the branches finally manage to shake free of thier white burden. I missed that part of life when we lived in warmer climates.
We recently moved to Alaska and upon our arrival we were assualted with all kinds of tips and info on how to survive an alaskan winter. The focus is on simply making it to the grocery store without getting frostbite. I have learned in my first three months of this winter, (that’s right three months, and there are three more to go) that growing up in a small mountain town in Utah is pretty darn close to Anchorage winters. I was prepared for the unplowed roads, biting winds, that little -negative sign in front of the numbers, and my dad taught me how to navigate an icy hill without burning rubber.
But even with all the preparation, how-tos, and please don’ts (tongue on the flag pole) my breath is taken away every morning, as that phenomena of fresh fallen snow is frozen in place by the colder artic air. It is perpetual newly fallen snow bliss. The branches maybe get a little tougher up here as they must hold the weight of the snow in place for days and even weeks. Good lesson I guess for a girl far from home.
I grew up in a small town in North Dakota. When I went home for Christmas this year I was struck once again by the humble little place.
I saw how the extreme cold equalized us all. When the temperature reaches a certain point you’re not worried about superficialities.
I never thought it would happen, but I miss what winter used to mean. A few extra minutes saying goodbyes at friends’ houses as the car warmed up. Wearing all of my sweaters at once and not caring what I looked like anymore. Sharing hot cocoa with someone everyday. Going outside with my dad in the middle of a blizzard just to see what it’s like and to feel the prickling of the hard snowflakes against my cheek. Every car looking dirty for months on end. I miss bundling up so only my eyes peaked out over scarves and from under caps so that I could play outside when I was younger or later so I could go on walks on frozen evenings with good friends. And I miss that tough old spirit it takes to weather the long months.
Having Canadian parents and growing up in Idaho, one would think that snow and I belong together. However, this is not snow –I mean, so.
I never learned to ski, or skate, or sl…okay, yes, I did go sledding. I went often, and quite often on streets covered in ice (this was another great reason for growing up in a small city). I also could build a pretty good snowman, cry hard enough to get my brother into trouble when he “white-washed” me, and made beautiful snow angels. As a teenager with an eye for beauty, I would often stand outside at night in the muffled quiet of the falling snow and just let it soak in around me. I didn’t mind the cold, then.
But, I grew older, and somehow, my bones grew colder. Snow is now a nuisance, one I was glad to be rid of when we moved from Utah to California. I have enjoyed the rain over the ice, and I’m glad I don’t have to bundle up my children to walk outside. Still, I do admit, that part of me remembers those fun times running around in the white stuff and breathing in the icy air. I think I’ll enjoy a visit or two, but I’m okay with leaving it behind.
Snow,snow, beautiful snow!
Born and raised in Southern Calif. I would fantasize about seeing snow fall. We did get a trip or two up to Big Bear Lake during the winter. However, I wanted to see, feel, taste, and experience snow like my cousins did in Utah.
Snow, snow, beautiful snow!
I went to Utah this past month. And yes, to my delight I got to see the beautiful snow.
I opened up the blinds everyday to see the wonderment of the snow falling, building up, and sparkling with the sunshine.
Snow, snow, beautiful snow.
I wanted to experience it but, now I think it is much more beautiful for me looking at it from the window.
I think I’ll stick to my love of the warm sun and sand of the California coast!
You guys have no idea how much I’m loving this. A few of you have made me more homesick for snow, a few of you have left me wondering how to convert you to my snowy way of life, and Suzy, you even made me cry! These are so beauiful — keep them coming!
In all my life, I never saw snow sparkle like I have seen it on a couple occassions this year. Did farries sprinkle glitter in the snow? Just days after the icy/sleet-like snow, we awoke to the fluffy, soft and glistening snow. And my eyes were not deceiving me as my mother so it too. And the two elderly ladies who are triplets with a ready smile saw it two. I can see the ones face light up as she said how they had taken note of it as well. Snow still brings wonder after all these years of living in the Midwest.
It’s snowing right now. We left our boots and mittens in Utah. gah.