It was still snowing when I woke up. It had been snowing all day the day before, so several inches of new snow had refreshed the deep snowpack that had been accumulating all winter. Ben and I headed out into the woods -- the allure of the pristine snow, untouched by so much as a mouse track, beckoning. With the fresh snowfall, everything in the woods had been made new again. The new snow heightened my perception, and I found myself noticing previously unseen treasures. Usually drawn to the ways the deep blue of the Minnesota winter sky highlights the white birch branches, I now found my gaze enticed by the beauty of the birch tree trunks in the snow, no longer seeing them as white, but as studies in grays, pinks, and orange.
Against the white backdrop of new snow, the whole forest seemed bedecked in color – the rich browns of leaves hanging on since autumn; the stark blacks of tree branches; the deep greens of pine and spruce and the light greens, oranges, and occasional deep roses of lichen; the tawny golds of dried asters and goldenrods that persisted through the snow drifts; and the occasional flashes of scarlet berries, burgundy sumac, and red twig dogwood.
But mostly the winter world is white. My husband once remarked that the fact that snow is white is proof that god exists. In this time of the long dark, the whiteness of the snow gifts us with light, reflecting every bit of moonlight and starlight to brighten the darkest of nights. How different the light and feel of winter would be if snow were deep purple, or gray, or blaze orange. Instead, whether a gift of the gods, the benevolent universe, or the miracle of the physics of light, snow glistens a bright white. Because snow is composed of millions of tiny translucent crystals, light waves hitting the crystals bend and bounce in all different directions, separating out into all varieties of colors before coming back together. What we perceive as white is actually every color of the rainbow. (How fun it would be if we experienced rainbow-colored snow!) Snow always lifts my spirits, and I suspect that is in part due to this quality of snow. Perhaps like the “light boxes” used by people with Seasonal Affective Disorder, snow bathes us in full spectrum light, literally lighting up our amygdalas and boosting our moods.
Whether fat fluffy flakes floating gently down from the heavens, swirling snow sweeping off branches and rooftops, or delicate diaphanous diamonds dancing round and round, snowfall causes us to pause a moment in sheer delight. We watch out our windows or run outside to immerse ourselves in it, lifting our heads to the heavens, sensing the snow upon our faces, catching snowflakes on the tips of our tongues. Whether the heavy, wet snow dreaded by snow shovelers and celebrated by snowball throwers; the sticky snow that coats tree branches and creates winter wonderlands; or the light, fluffy, feathery snow that invites us to plop down in it as if it were the coziest of pillows and quilts, snow enchants us. In that liminal time before the snowplows, snowblowers, and snowmobiles come out, a deep quiet descends, creating calm and soothing our souls. Like the earth around us, we are transformed, hearkened back to a time of innocence.
No matter our age, snow invites us to come outside and play. Following a fresh snowfall, out come the sleds, toboggans, saucers, skis, snowshoes, and snowboards. We create snow people, snow forts, and igloos; have snowball fights; and make angels in the snow. As a child, snow sent my brother, sister, and I shuffling our feet through the snow to create the many-spoked fox and geese circular track where we could play tag within its borders; rolling huge balls of snow until we’d laid bare the grass to make snowmen; and on those rare days when the snow was just right, excitedly gathering it in trays where my mother would pour the sweet golden liquid in swirly shapes that would harden into snow taffy when it hit the cold snow.
Snow turns every little slope into a slide. When we were little, we’d get out the Flexible Flyers and head to the sledding hill across the street or the far longer and more dangerous Devil’s Run a few blocks away. As we grew older, and our tastes more sophisticated, my brother, friends, and I spent many happy days on the ski slopes near our home, or nearby New York and Michigan. Moving to Minnesota, I learned the art of skiing uphill, and have delighted in skiing all day through snowy woods. When no sleds, skis, or saucers are available, cafeteria trays will do. One night after high school synchronized swimming practice in the university pool, everyone, including our coach, grabbed trays, made 8- to 12-person chains, and slid down the big hill on the front campus, screaming and laughing all the way. Go to any college campus after a big snow, and you’ll find the cafeteria missing trays. But of all the ways we have concocted to slide on snow, nothing compares to the snow tube. Out for a late night stroll one winter night in college, my boyfriend and I encountered a group of young people on the local golf course, merrily sliding down the hills in huge truck tire inner tubes which they generously offered to share with us. Floating down the long gentle slopes in the moonlight, I was transported to a mystical realm. Tubing continues to be my favorite winter playtime activity, and now, nearing 70, I still get out the snow tube and take a few runs down the front slope. It’s a simple delight, and well worth the climb back up.
One of the great joys of having a child is getting to relive your own childhood. We’d build snowmen, play fox and geese, and slide, glide, and tumble down the little hill in our front yard. My son’s “snow days” were the best – a whole day off of school to play games inside and out; go sledding until our toes and fingers were numb; climb, jostle, and burrow in deep snowpiles; and then head back inside for hot cocoa and fresh-baked cookies by the fire.
Our dogs have loved to play in the snow as much as we have. Orion and Juniper would romp together in the snow, climb the mounds, race beside us as we skied. Sam would run down the front slope over and over again in pursuit of Paul on his saucer. A talented catcher, Lucie loved any chance to exercise her skills – tennis balls, popcorn, and especially snow. We would toss shovelfuls of snow her way and she’d leap into the air to catch them, or throw her snowballs to catch, which often left her looking bewildered when they mysteriously disappeared melting in her mouth. Charlie was content simply to sit in the snow. Part Newfie, he would cling to every last inch of the melting snow in springtime. All the dogs loved playing King of the Mountain, sitting atop the huge mounds of snow that would develop over a winter’s worth of snow. But none of them has reveled in playing in the snow more than our current canine companion, Ben. A few inches of snow and the entire world becomes his playground. As a puppy discovering snow, balls, and gravity all at the same time, he would take his ball to the top of every snow mound we passed on our walks, drop it, watch it roll down, and prance after it. Now his favorite game is pouncing on his ball, burying it in mounds of snow, digging down and down and down, then rising triumphant with the ball in his mouth, and burying it again. Part of me wishes it would always stay winter because he so loves the snow.
I’ve had many other memorable and lovely moments in the snow – winter walks through the beauty of the far northern forests; the bizarre fun of snowshoeing while being blasted with gales of blowing snow; the enchantment of stepping outside after the Christmas Eve candlelight service just as the first snowflakes began to fall; and that precious day in January many years ago when my husband and I walked into the snowy woods and exchanged vows.
I’m lucky to live in a place where once the snow comes, it usually lasts all winter, so we have several months of wintertime beauty and fun. Yes, snow comes with its requisite of shoveling, the hazards of slippery roads, and the somewhat mixed blessing of being snowed in for days, but mostly I’m glad for it. Today the first pussy willows emerged, looking a bit like blossoms of snow themselves. In a month or two the first of the crocuses and daffodils will emerge, having been safely protected from freezing all winter by the snowy blanket above. The robins and warblers will return, adding their songs to those of the stalwart chickadees and redpolls who remain all year. The white world will melt into a soft, pale green once again. But for the moment, let it snow!
