“Are your roads snow-packed?” my cousin (from the city) asked. She wasn’t asking for safety reasons, but for something a little closer to the heart. She continued, “The other night, I walked home from a neighbours as it was snowing. It was so beautiful, soft snow glinting under the streetlights and the roads all white. It brought back the memories of my childhood, when they didn’t use salt to clear the roads.”
Her comment brought back my own memories. Living in a rural area, I’ve become accustomed to white roads and clear stars in the night sky – they are a fact of life down here. I smiled at her words, because there is something about snow-packed roads and the winter landscape that brings out the child in me as well. I still love to fall on my back in a pristine drift to make snow angels, and then just lie there watching the world from this angle, until the coldness seeps through my clothes.
On Sunday, she brought her four-year old daughter down and we joined a gang of other children tobogganing at the golf course, wailing and whining down the hills on crazy carpets like forty years hadn’t passed since the last time we’d done this. Pure joy.
The past two winters have been barren, which makes for good walking and hiking, but I’ve really missed the snow. However, during the past week or so, we’ve been socked in by no less than four snowstorms bringing 131 cm of wonderful white fluff. While snow removal can certainly be tiresome , I am thrilled with mountainous snowbanks that call to mind my childhood and a fresh, white winter, wide open to possibilities.
Monday, my husband and I donned our back country trekking skis and skied right down the road to the woods trails, where we followed a single track made earlier in the morning from a lone snowshoer.
The forest, laden with great marshmallow pillows, was serene and quiet, yet the creeks still bubbled clear. Our snow came early and thick this year, so the creeks have remained open in spite of some bitterly cold temperatures. Sometimes we were up to our knees in snow, ploughing through and laughing as the dog bounded through the drifts like a rabbit, stopping every 20 feet or so to chew the snow from her paws.
It was a good day.
I think if I never had snow, I might get old much faster.