The first one was snowsational. We leaned out windows and took photos of snowflakes, cooked up a storm, and slept deeply under piles of blankets. The foot of fallen snow charmed the world inside and out. The second one was stunning in its own way: such wet, clinging snow that even the clothesline was coating in a inch of the white stuff. I put a ruler in the snow to measure it, and as it melted down from its original 9+ inches, some of my joy went with it. This time, almost 8 inches upon us, and the magic is getting strangely commonplace.
For years, we had so little snow here, or only one big storm in a season leaving a mere third or half a foot behind. While there have been many snowdays (ice on top of a scattering of snow, high winds and a few inches), we haven’t had a winter like this in so long that I don’t know how long it’s been.
Cottonwood Mel is heavy with snow even as the thin ends of branches are thickening with buds to come. The outdoor furniture holds the weight of the sky well. Ken and Forest have been shoveling the front porch and car pad for an hour. Soon Ken will make his way to the 1950’s red Ferguson tractor, and begin the arduous work of blading our four-block-long up-and-down and in-and-out driveway, not to mention his mother’s drive too.
Snow defines the days. We’ve moved a meeting set for here this afternoon, and I just shifted Passover, for the first time ever, to an in-town location lest seder-goers get their cars stuck in snow banks.
Meanwhile, there are snow things to do, getting to be almost routine in these parts, such as taking the same pictures I took last month of the same snow-full views, making a whole lot of soup, and just staring out at what will soon be gone. During the last snow, I tried to truly take in the beauty and magic of this sky-to-earth transformation, telling myself I probably wouldn’t see something like this for a year or many years again. I’m delighted I was wrong.