Stories of snow.

Monday, December 3rd, 2007

Once again, I find myself needing to blog, and once again, I can think of nothing to write—but help is at hand. Today I’m falling back on the “writing prompts” that the Holidailies site offers for uninspired people such as myself.

Today’s prompt is “tell us a story about snow”. I’ve actually already told a little story about snow here on WordRidden. In fact, it was one of the first things I ever wrote for the site: a short piece called “Moon” about snow and the moon and a beautiful night in rural Indiana when I was a kid.

I grew up in various snowy places (the American midwest and Germany) and I went to college in a really snowy place (Massachusetts), so I have a lot of snowy memories. My earliest memories are of sledding down “Horseshoe Hill” at the back of our house in Crailsheim, Germany, when I was very young. But the bulk of my snow-related recollections probably come from the four years my family spent in Indiana. We got really ridiculous amounts of snow there—so much that my parents had to shovel it off the roof of the house to prevent a cave-in and we didn’t have school snow days so much as snow weeks. Besides the moon incident, I also remember my family cross-country skiing around the neighborhood, much to the bewilderment of the neighbors (Nordic skiing hadn’t really hit the big time in Terre Haute, Indiana at that point).

Like most kids, I guess, I loved the snow. It wasn’t until I went off to college that snow started to seem like a hassle, primarily because it made traveling home for the holidays something of a trial. Many’s the hour I spent sitting in Bradley International Airport, waiting for a delayed flight to whisk me away to more temperate climes. Also, the charm of snow starts to wear off around March, when it’s turned all dirty and slushy and you have to trudge through it at the crack of dawn to get to your morning classes.

Though certainly picturesque, the snow wasn’t a whole lot more fun when I was living in Freiburg. One winter in particular it snowed a lot, then warmed up just enough for the snow to start to melt before the temperatures plunged again, turning everything into a solid sheet of ice. While it made for a lovely-looking winter wonderland, it wasn’t terribly fun slipping and sliding all over the sidewalks in town (or, indeed, falling hard on my tailbone in the middle of the street).

Now that I live in Brighton, where the most snow we ever get is the lightest little dusting which disappears by noon, I find I really miss the snow—or the idea of it, anyway. Yeah, it’s cold and wet and makes traveling a hassle, but it’s also bright and pretty and magical. Fresh snowfall quiets the world down, cleans it up, transforms it into someplace sparkly and new. There’s something calming about watching snow flurries swirl outside the window and something satisfying about the crunch of icy crystals underfoot. With the exception of seaside cliffs, I’d say my favorite landscape is a snowy, wintry landscape: silent, alien, pristine, and perfect.

Comments

1

Ah Snow…we hate it when we have to deal with it…we miss it when we don’t. Stevens Pass opens Thursday! They got 31" in the last 24 hours…that’s my kind of snowing!

PS Do Not Ever Throw a Snowball at Jessica…NOT EVER.

Posted by Sillysocks

3

I love snow.

As a person who grew up in Southern California, snow was an event, an event that you had to drive to. My mom remembers that it snowed briefly in 1952 in Huntington Beach. Last year Inglewood and Compton had about 20 minutes of snow and the rest of us had rain/hail.

So, driving to the snow was a fun event. Going skiing. A weekend or a week to Big Bear or Mammoth. Or even better driving 10 hours to Brianhead in Utah.

When I lived in Boston there was a lack of good snow, I was told that Boston only got good snow every couple of years and that one had to go north or east of the 495 to experience real snow. This was sad.

The upswing of it all is that I rather take my holidays to cold places than warm places. I live in warm and cold is exotic.

4

p.s. I know that driving to Brianhead (just out of St. George, Utah) really should only take 6-7 hours, but my stepdad drove the VW van at 50 mph or less.

p.p.s. The stepdad, now ex-stepdad, still likes to drive slow. He now owns a Ferrari and never ever drives it above 51 mph. This is blasphemy.

5

> With the exception of seaside cliffs, I’d say my favorite landscape

Ah ha. I know you.ve been there before, but we’ll have to take you and Jeremy on one of my favourite walks along the South Downs Way and the Seven Sisters Country Park. The most English of English seaside cliffs.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/clagnut/sets/1481878/

6

You know, the snowball comment is quite intriguing … it just kinda makes you want to pull off your gloves, reach down into some really wet snow, shape it into a aerodynamic round mass of cold and, well, let loose!

I remember snowball fights in grade school. We would cut out blocks of snow from the drifts and stack them. A little rubbing on the seams solidified the blocks into our army’s fortress (ala The Bishop’s Wife - Cary Grant not the ridiculous remake …) We then attacked back and forth with no rhyme or reason as to who actually was "winning" it was just fun!

So, Jessica, what do you have against snowballs? :-)

M

Posted by Michael

7

Ah! I’ve seen the Bishop’s Wife! Anyway, I agree, abt the comment that Mass doesn’t get as much snow as I thought it would… I live south of Boston; I miss the Midwest - great snow. Found your blog on the Holidailes, just out meandering and saying hello. - Care

8

Hi Care, thanks for stopping by!

Michael, I’m not sure, but my anti-snowball stance has probably got something to do with the whole "icy projectiles being hurled at one’s head" or "sodden clumps of snow melting down the back of one’s neck" thing. ;-)

I just really hate having snowballs thrown at me—but what I hate almost even more is being completely ignored when I nicely but firmly say, "Please don’t throw snowballs at me, I really hate it." Giggling and throwing one at me anyway isn’t funny, it’s just rude. Not that I haven’t been known to throw snowballs at people myself—but I’ve never thrown one at someone who explicitly told me not to. We all have our pet peeves (and I freely admit that I probably have more than most people!).

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