I have a memory of being a child, running outside ahead of my grandfather into the white wilderness in unadulterated joy. He was grumbling. As I threw handfuls of frozen splendor into the air, I shouted, “I love snow!” He answered, “That’s because you don’t have to shovel it.” I remember thinking he must be really old to hate snow.
I don’t know why I decided that age played a factor in it, but it must. Even now my assumption is borne out in our vocabulary: pure joy is “unadulterated.” I am now an adult. I have become adult-erated. I no longer find joy in snow.
Some of this is my own fault. I don’t participate in any winter sports, like skiing. I don’t particularly enjoy being cold. I also drive, a lot, for work and I don’t like driving in bad weather. Or on icy roads. I don’t care to have my family out there driving either.
On the other hand, I love to knit and a lack of cold weather would severely limit my knitting options. How many scarves do you need if you never see snow? I would also hate to seemy pile of hand-knit socks go to waste. We have a nice wood-stove for the winter and I enjoy reading by the fire, although I haven’t actually done that in years. Again, that’s my own fault.
One thing hasn’t changed, though. I love a good “snow day.” When the weather reports are accurate and the blizzard is here, there isn’t much you can do but wait it out. Schools are closed. Events get cancelled. Everyone slows down and waits out the weather. You need this rest because once the storm is over, the work begins; digging out isn’t easy. But for a moment, it is quiet and peaceful.
One storm per year is plenty, though, and I’m thankful that February is a short month.