On Snow

(Or as Joel quipped... "On  sNOwTABLE  Days.")

My earliest memory involving snow occurred when I was less than five--I can mark the time since we were in my parents’ Toyota truck, which they later replaced with a car.  The family was likely on its way to church, and in the middle of the Topeka Boulevard bridge, we lost control and spun a complete 360.  After a few seconds, upon realizing we were all unharmed and facing the correct direction, we gratefully continued on our way, but the fear and excitement of that moment engraved that experience into my memory, though time has faded the details quite a bit.  There were other times, later, when Dad spun the car purposefully in a clear parking lot for our enjoyment.  My brother, Daniel, begged for such rides more than I, especially as I became old enough to recognize the danger in such stunts but not to recognize the sense and caution my dad used when choosing a safe spot and controlling the spin.

I recall some rather impressive drifts once after a snowfall during my elementary school years.  The snow lay thinly along the open ground--a few inches, perhaps, having been half shoveled by the obliging wind into drifts several feet deep.  We got a snow day from school, as I recall--granted by Mom if not the school board since she didn’t know when we’d next get to experience and enjoy such a deep snow.  My brother and I burrowed into the drifts pushed up against our row of pines, creating snow tunnels and a pseudo-igloo.  Our excitement spurred us to work past the painful cold, and by the time we’d accomplished the bulk of our plans and shown the product off to Mom, our little hands and knees were reddened with the warning signs of frostbite, and we were more than happy to retreat indoors for some cocoa and hot baths.

My childhood saw other accumulations of an inch one day, a few inches another--decent, at least, for sledding and snowmen and snow angels and snowball fights, but rarely enough to cancel school, much as I might wish it would.  Ice more than snow determined our days off.  Even so, I remember vividly a certain hill during my junior high bus ride that was dreadfully steep even when it wasn’t slippery, and on one memorable, snowy morning, the bus slid backward for several frightening seconds, nearly into the ditch.  Our bus driver’s skill, God’s protection, or more likely both kept the bus upright and everyone safe, and the driver’s third (or perhaps fourth) essay of the hill succeeded.

During college, the first decent snow signaled a few, ah--interesting--traditions that I did not take part in but heard quite a bit about.  Both genders knew they ought to avoid the other dorms during this time.  For the women of McCreery dorm, where I lived, that was the night for naked snow angels (so-named, though some girls went out in bathing suits and shoes, and all at least stayed wrapped in towels before and after they made their angels), which they attempted to make at night in the soccer field without getting caught and lectured by the police.  For the men of Campbell dorm, it was the night for the “running of the bulls”--the evening many of them streaked (yes, naked but for shoes and perhaps a scarf or hat) a circuit around Campbell hall.  We would hear the next day at mealtime all the interesting incidents of men falling in the snow or almost getting seen.  And, as our college was known for its students’ pranks, it wasn’t altogether unexpected if a dorm woke the next morning to find snow shoveled high before the front doors or another such trick.

As I’ve matured (and developed a dislike for the cold that outweighs my former pleasures of playing in the snow), I’ve come to enjoy snow more for its beauty than for its entertainment value, and, of course, have learned to be wary of it while driving.  I cannot forget the destructive ice storm during the early spring of 2008--the beautiful crystalline ornaments on every outdoor surface and the numerous branches and power lines brought down by their weight.  

A couple years later, again during a spring snow, Joel and I slid into a shallow ditch on our way to Clearwater.  We were quite terse with each other as we tried to problem-solve our way out of it and eventually had to back up many yards to find a place where we could get back on the road.  Thankfully, the only harm from the experience fell on our egos.  By morning, we’d gotten perhaps six inches, and the Coon boys--Joel, Jon, and their dad, Dave--determined it to be a grand day to make an igloo.  We all pitched in to pack snow into plastic containers, upend them in position, and caulk them with more snow.  The result was taller than ideal, and the entry didn’t descend lower than the inside floor to trap the heat inside, but it was an igloo.  The three boys, with the addition of their cousin Nathan, ate a dinner of pizza inside, and Jon slept the whole night there on a cot (which was hard to maneuver inside).  Unfortunately, the poorly shape didn’t retain the heat properly, so it was a cold night for him.

Now we sit snugly in our little home as snow continues to bury the world outside.  I cannot remember ever seeing such a steady snowfall and deep accumulation.  

My first glance outside yesterday morning was greeted by the withered lawn, barren trees, and dry porch, yet tiny flakes had begun to dust the sidewalk by the time I left for work, so I swiftly changed my sneakers for boots in anticipation.  I had to brush snow off the back of the car, but my windshield wipers took care of the front without trouble.  

My desk at work gave me a fine vantage point from which to periodically note the snow’s steady descent.  The absence of a strong wind made it more pleasant outside, but I was glad when work gave me an excuse to not fetch the mail.  The college issued the alert that the campus would close at 3 pm, but I left at 2:30 pm at the end of my shift.  A half inch of snow had accumulated since the plow had last cleared the sidewalk, and I had to step over slushy black water at the edges of the street.  The heavy coat of snow on my car brushed off easily, but flakes continued to fall as I drove carefully home.  Joel was there when I arrived--he had returned safely from his surveying job in McPherson at 1 pm--so I had him fetch me the shovel while I was still bundled up.  Since I hadn’t been able to enjoy my customary walk to and from work, I got my exercise for the day scraping our front stoop and sidewalk clear.  I always regret the need to shovel since it inevitably ruins the smooth, pristine beauty of the snowscape, and this was no exception, as I had no way of avoiding the grass, leaves, and dirt clods hidden at the corners of the the sidewalk, which were then strewn in piles to this side and that upon the formerly pure whiteness.

When I came indoors, I checked the back porch, but the snow looked pristine, and we assumed the alley cats we usually fed would stay in their run-down garage rather than brave the thick snow.  However, I later peered out and spotted kitty footprints walking up the sidewalk to the back porch and away.  Noticing their empty bowl was masked by snow, I shoveled the porch and the walk and filled the kitty bowl, but the cats had apparently decided against venturing out, and hours later, it lay hidden, uneaten, under an even thicker layer of crystallized water.  

Not unexpectedly, the college announced the campus’ closure for the next day, a much-desired holiday for nearly everyone.  The weather that evening made a great day for Joel’s pork & ramen stir fry, the board game Dominion, and a new book--and so we concluded the day. 

The snow, however, has not concluded.   It has continued to fall in everything from languid flurries to speedy, nearly invisible specks to slower, fluffy, thicky-falling flakes that seem the epitome of the ideal Christmas snow.  By my recent measurement, it now lays 10 1/2 inches deep on every unsheltered surface.  Joel’s employers declared today’s work optional; fieldwork would be impossible, and only a little work could be done in the office, so he decided not to bother digging out his car.  Though my back's not happy that I shoveled yesterday, if I hadn't, we wouldn't have been able to shove our front door open this morning--and even that, I didn't bother trying past a half foot since the snow lays so thickly.  Later, though, mindful of the guilt I'd feel if another cat braved its way through the snow looking for food and found none, I squeezed myself out the back door and cleared the porch, scooping most of the snow out of the still-full food bowl.  I also took that opportunity to measure the snow in an area unaffected by my shoveling.  
Aside from that labor, I have determined to use this delightful holiday to accomplish one of the many enjoyable tasks my daily weariness has forced me to set aside, and as motivation to get past writer’s block, I have not let myself go through my usual morning webcomics until I've written and posted a worthy or interesting thought.  This task now complete--I hope to the reader’s enjoyment--I will now continue to enjoy this day of rest with Joel, with other writing projects, perhaps with the piano, and with many other long-delayed delights.