If it's going to be Winter, it might as well be like this.
I apologize up front for having no photos to post today. Photos would be crucial to this post. I just don't take photos. I can't, as in, I am not capable of it, nor am I allowed to. Ask my family. If you and I were on a desert island and you wanted a photo taken of you next to the hut we just built, you'd be better off hunting down some coconut-eating monkey and asking it to take the photo than asking me to do it. Trust me.
Nonetheless, on days like yesterday, I wish with all my heart that I actually owned a real camera, and that I was actually capable of taking an acceptable photograph. My phone doesn't count as a camera -- if you've seen my phone, you would understand. I don't dare insult it any more here, because it might overhear this conversation, and then I'd be completely sunk. Just trust me on this one, too.
It's just that yesterday was a magical day in southeastern New Hampshire, and taking photos would have been apropos.
See, on Wednesday, we had a snowstorm that lasted from sunup to sundown. I know, that's kind of the reverse of how snow storms go, but that's how this one rolled. When I arrived in the parking lot at church at 6 a.m., there was the slightest dusting of snow. Forty-five minutes later, my students and I left shallow prints in the sticky snow on our way back to our cars. The snow was the perfect wetness; not slushy and gross, turning the roads into slimy and filthy muckfields, but crystally and perfectly white, coating everything in sight. This snow stuck like artificial flocking, and since there was no wind to disrupt it, it stayed stuck.
The commute to work was slow and a little treacherous - wet snow that's not slushy is pretty much by definition icy and slick - but driving slowly just allowed more time for enjoying the winter wonderland. It was beautiful and, since we took the back roads to avoid the turnpike when we saw that the on-ramp was completely backed up and at a standstill, we got to enjoy even more trees, bushes, fence posts and open fields covered in this silent down. Gorgeous.
All day long, from my office window, I watched the snow fall. The temperatures stayed just below freezing, so as the snow continued to fall, it didn't melt but it didn't blow around either, or freeze hard in plummeting temperatures. There is an open area right next to our building where students lounge on the grass under the ample shade of several trees in the summer, or where they set up tightropes between the trees and practice balancing barefooted, or where they toss frisbees and play hackeysack. On snowy days like Wednesday, the view from my window is quaint and peaceful and well, photo-worthy . . . if you're not me, that is.
The snow had nearly stopped by the commute home. Roads were plowed, sanded, salted, and pretty safe for driving. There had been no wind all day, so all the snow was still clinging to branches and housetops and leftover Christmas decorations in the yards of people who haven't gotten around to packing those away yet. The street lights made the snow sparkle, and it was lovely.
When we pulled into the driveway I cringed a little. I hate driving over fresh snow in my driveway, compacting it down into an unshovelable icepack. I knew I would dread having to move it later, and we talked for a minute about whether the temperatures were going to drop or stay the same. In the back of my mind I recalled hearing someone talk about single-digit temperatures later this week, or next week, or when was that? I was tired, so I imagined it would be later...much later. I did clear the sidewalk to the house, just for safety's sake, but I left the driveway and went inside for dinner.
When I woke up Thursday morning and headed out to the car just before 6 a.m., I was grateful that the temperatures hadn't fallen hard. The church parking lot was cleared and the sidewalks had been shoveled as well. I made a mental note to find out whose turn it is this week to clear the walkways so I can write them a thank you note. It was so nice to not have to walk through six inches of snow and have soggy pant-leg bottoms for half the morning.
The drive home just before 7 a.m. was like passing through a fairy land. The sun was tossing sparkling golden and pink rays across the sky, and the reflections and refractions of light off the snow and off the feathery remaining clouds made it almost impossible to tell just where the actual source of the light was. It was a glowing, dazzling, radiant world. The snow was completely undisturbed, except along the roadways, and it glittered and clung in gravity-defying angles to every exposed surface.
I used my time before work to clear the snow in the driveway. I knew my tire prints would be impossible to remove, but the rest of the snow came up like a dream. The air was still and the only sound was the sliding of the shovel on the pavement. The snow was still damp enough to stick together as I tossed it, a shovelful at a time, on top of the existing snowbanks. It was peaceful and calm, and just enough exertion to offer a comforting warmth.
The sun shone most of the day yesterday, melting everything it touched. On my walk from the parking lot to my office, I watched tall pines shudder in the sunlight and heave huge armfuls of snow from their branches to the ground, landing in one enormous powdery sploosh after another. I felt grateful for the sunshine, and that I wasn't underneath any of those evergreens when they shook off their frosty loads. By noon most of the trees had lost their flocking, and the driveways and sidewalks were clear and nearly dry by last night, when the temperatures started to fall. And fall. And fall.
Monday it was over 60 degrees here. Shirt sleeves and a warm(ish) spring breeze had grown men and women giggling like school kids about the beautiful weather. Wednesday it snowed from dawn to dusk, leaving a half-foot of fresh snow on top of the existing piles. Today, we are reminded that January will have her own. I pulled my jacket tight around me this morning, the bitter wind whipping my hair into my eyes as I walked from the car to the office. The melted patches in the streets are ice slicks today, and even as the sun beats warmly through my office window, there is a frigid draft curling its way around the old wooden frame. There will be no thaw today. Or tomorrow. Or for a while. We had our reprieve, and our lovely gesture. For the next while, winter will own us.
If I just had a few pictures, I could remind myself that not all of winter is awful and torturous. There's no way I'm forgetting how long it lasts . . .
Nonetheless, on days like yesterday, I wish with all my heart that I actually owned a real camera, and that I was actually capable of taking an acceptable photograph. My phone doesn't count as a camera -- if you've seen my phone, you would understand. I don't dare insult it any more here, because it might overhear this conversation, and then I'd be completely sunk. Just trust me on this one, too.
It's just that yesterday was a magical day in southeastern New Hampshire, and taking photos would have been apropos.
See, on Wednesday, we had a snowstorm that lasted from sunup to sundown. I know, that's kind of the reverse of how snow storms go, but that's how this one rolled. When I arrived in the parking lot at church at 6 a.m., there was the slightest dusting of snow. Forty-five minutes later, my students and I left shallow prints in the sticky snow on our way back to our cars. The snow was the perfect wetness; not slushy and gross, turning the roads into slimy and filthy muckfields, but crystally and perfectly white, coating everything in sight. This snow stuck like artificial flocking, and since there was no wind to disrupt it, it stayed stuck.
The commute to work was slow and a little treacherous - wet snow that's not slushy is pretty much by definition icy and slick - but driving slowly just allowed more time for enjoying the winter wonderland. It was beautiful and, since we took the back roads to avoid the turnpike when we saw that the on-ramp was completely backed up and at a standstill, we got to enjoy even more trees, bushes, fence posts and open fields covered in this silent down. Gorgeous.
All day long, from my office window, I watched the snow fall. The temperatures stayed just below freezing, so as the snow continued to fall, it didn't melt but it didn't blow around either, or freeze hard in plummeting temperatures. There is an open area right next to our building where students lounge on the grass under the ample shade of several trees in the summer, or where they set up tightropes between the trees and practice balancing barefooted, or where they toss frisbees and play hackeysack. On snowy days like Wednesday, the view from my window is quaint and peaceful and well, photo-worthy . . . if you're not me, that is.
The snow had nearly stopped by the commute home. Roads were plowed, sanded, salted, and pretty safe for driving. There had been no wind all day, so all the snow was still clinging to branches and housetops and leftover Christmas decorations in the yards of people who haven't gotten around to packing those away yet. The street lights made the snow sparkle, and it was lovely.
When we pulled into the driveway I cringed a little. I hate driving over fresh snow in my driveway, compacting it down into an unshovelable icepack. I knew I would dread having to move it later, and we talked for a minute about whether the temperatures were going to drop or stay the same. In the back of my mind I recalled hearing someone talk about single-digit temperatures later this week, or next week, or when was that? I was tired, so I imagined it would be later...much later. I did clear the sidewalk to the house, just for safety's sake, but I left the driveway and went inside for dinner.
When I woke up Thursday morning and headed out to the car just before 6 a.m., I was grateful that the temperatures hadn't fallen hard. The church parking lot was cleared and the sidewalks had been shoveled as well. I made a mental note to find out whose turn it is this week to clear the walkways so I can write them a thank you note. It was so nice to not have to walk through six inches of snow and have soggy pant-leg bottoms for half the morning.
The drive home just before 7 a.m. was like passing through a fairy land. The sun was tossing sparkling golden and pink rays across the sky, and the reflections and refractions of light off the snow and off the feathery remaining clouds made it almost impossible to tell just where the actual source of the light was. It was a glowing, dazzling, radiant world. The snow was completely undisturbed, except along the roadways, and it glittered and clung in gravity-defying angles to every exposed surface.
I used my time before work to clear the snow in the driveway. I knew my tire prints would be impossible to remove, but the rest of the snow came up like a dream. The air was still and the only sound was the sliding of the shovel on the pavement. The snow was still damp enough to stick together as I tossed it, a shovelful at a time, on top of the existing snowbanks. It was peaceful and calm, and just enough exertion to offer a comforting warmth.
The sun shone most of the day yesterday, melting everything it touched. On my walk from the parking lot to my office, I watched tall pines shudder in the sunlight and heave huge armfuls of snow from their branches to the ground, landing in one enormous powdery sploosh after another. I felt grateful for the sunshine, and that I wasn't underneath any of those evergreens when they shook off their frosty loads. By noon most of the trees had lost their flocking, and the driveways and sidewalks were clear and nearly dry by last night, when the temperatures started to fall. And fall. And fall.
Monday it was over 60 degrees here. Shirt sleeves and a warm(ish) spring breeze had grown men and women giggling like school kids about the beautiful weather. Wednesday it snowed from dawn to dusk, leaving a half-foot of fresh snow on top of the existing piles. Today, we are reminded that January will have her own. I pulled my jacket tight around me this morning, the bitter wind whipping my hair into my eyes as I walked from the car to the office. The melted patches in the streets are ice slicks today, and even as the sun beats warmly through my office window, there is a frigid draft curling its way around the old wooden frame. There will be no thaw today. Or tomorrow. Or for a while. We had our reprieve, and our lovely gesture. For the next while, winter will own us.
If I just had a few pictures, I could remind myself that not all of winter is awful and torturous. There's no way I'm forgetting how long it lasts . . .
Lovely. When winter feels like this I can almost bear it. Sadly it always reveals its other face
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