I like snow. As a kid growing up in Virginia, snow was a big deal. Listening to the radio at 6 a.m. for the school closings was one of the most exciting events of the year. Especially when they announced Denbigh Elementary. The dreamy ecstasy of turning off the radio, snuggling deeper into the covers, and sleeping in was just the best ever. Now you might think snow in Virginia was rare. Certainly by current venue comparisons. But back then we got at least a couple school closing snows a year.
I remember one snow of at least 2 feet that closed school for a week. My buddies and I (about 10 years old) tramped around shoveling driveways and sidewalks for a few bucks. Frequently invited inside for hot chocolate. And the sledding was fantastic. Our favorite hill ended in a swamp, which was mostly frozen. We competed to see who could go the farthest without falling in.
Later, in early high school years in northern Virginia we had two years of heavy snows. One snow buried our car parked on the street so deep that only the top surface of the roof was showing. Out of school two weeks. Ice skating on the reflecting pool in Washington, D.C. Dogfight sledding on our favorite hill every afternoon. And lots and lots of shoveling. After one snow the plow came by burying the entrance to the driveway I had finished clearing. Just as my dad pulled up from work at the Pentagon. He chased the plow down and they came back to remove the pile they had just dumped at our driveway entrance.
Later as an adult I lived in northern Virginia again. We got 4 feet (measured) and then two weeks later another 2 feet (measured). Lots of shoveling. And lots of sledding.
So I like snow. And I certainly get the profound significance of what that snow pack means environmentally and for our water supply.
But I’m done. I’m ready for spring. Bring on the mud. When I look at the large boulders buried in snow. All I see is the green grass and ferns growing around them. When I look out toward the river. All I see are the gulls, eagles, and ospreys. Lobster boats. Splashing fish. My (new) 14-foot 1959 StarCraft Speed Queen tooling around. River hiking the places that don’t get much traffic. When I look at the snow covered trees. All I see are the tiny new buds. The grandkids playing wiffle ball, climbing all over the swing set, playing chase and walking down to their boat tied up at our dock. When I look up to snowflakes falling on my face. I feel the warm sun on my cheeks. The itch of that last tick bite. Breeze on my arms and legs. Smell of cut grass. Sound of the peepers. When I shovel more snow. I’m planting new flowers for Kathy.
Island visions too. Internationally acclaimed annual chili cook-off Saturday, March 1 from 4-6 at old town hall. Black currant tarts from Teg’n Buns. Weather reports and school closing. Snow angels, board games, cross-country skiing. Island video weather reports. Grief support group. Valentines. Search for electrician.
I like snow. But I’m done. I’m already picking blueberries buried in 2 foot drifts. Adoring tiny leaf sprouts in the sunshine on snow-covered branches. I’m ready. I’m already there. I’ll be the one in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts at the chili cook-off.
