Winter Memories

Cindy's post yesterday sparked the thought for mine today. Winter has settled not so gently over the area with a blizzard last week and freezing rain expected early this week. As I check the weather forecasts daily and mentally adjust schedules in case of bad weather, it occurs to me that I now look at winter and snow through an adult's eyes.

I'm not quite sure when this happened. I suspect about the same time I started carrying gloves in the pockets of every coat and buying winter boots again. Sometime between that teenage oblivion to the temperature and the day I started insisting the automatic battery jumper was in my vehicle before setting out on a trip.

And when I look outside at the gorgeous snow (and yes, it's beautiful before it's all crusty and gray and dirty), sometimes I miss being able to see it with a child's eye. Granted, I still enjoy snow days just as much :) but now they are accompanied by the worry of how far into June my school year will extend. I'm not going to lie and say I do *any* shoveling, but I do feel sorry for my sweetie when he's out there for hours.

When I was a kid I remember having far more snow than we get these days. Snowdrifts were as high as the curbside mailbox. Of course I never thought of the work my dad put into getting the snow into those drifts. With the rosy memory of youth I figured he enjoyed his time shoveling as much as we enjoyed digging a fort into the side of drift. When we got older and more sophisticated we'd drag the hose out and spray it so it'd ice over, ensuring our work would last all winter.

Sometimes when the drifts were high enough we'd have a fort on either side of the driveway, one for the boys and the other for the girls. The snowball fights that ensued most likely created another shoveling issue for my dad. I just remember they tended to be vicious and short-lived. No matter how many snowballs we had ready, we lacked the throwing ability and sheer bloodthirstiness that propelled my brothers to victory, every time.

We used to ice skate. There was a large outside rink at a nearby park that had live music and romantic moonlight circles around the rink (or at least as romantic at twelve year olds can get.) Although our parents never knew it, we also skated indiscriminately on the creek nearby, jumping the barb wire fence and the dam with a fearlessness that has long since escaped me.

When the snow was piled especially high, yes, we'd even jump off the bridge onto the drift. I will admit being petrified to do it, but I mentioned having three older brothers, right? The possibility of breaking a leg didn't measure up to being called a 'baby' by any of them.

We had a toboggan and sleds with the old-fashioned metal runners. We'd use them on a huge hill outside of town. The next door neighbor had a snowmobile and the dad would have all of us pile on a toboggan hitched to the back and take us sledding for hours.

When I was older a large group of us would trek to MN or WI to go skiing and I'd pretend to have fun. Okay, I am so not athletic. And falling down gets old fast! But when my kids got old enough I'd don my winter clothes and take them outside and help build snowman, and teach them how to build snow forts (if you don't have a drift handy.) For several years my husband and I had snowmobiles and that can be fun if you travel to where they have trails through the woods and lakes to ride across. There's a sort of spiritual quality to riding along pristine snow and seeing the evergreens boughs heavy with the latest snowfall.

Somehow I seem too busy and cold these days to contemplate the snow with anything other than a wondering eye. But I'm making a vow that as soon as the grandchildren get here next week, I'm teaching them how to make snow angels. And try to recapture a bit of the wonder that used to accompany snow.