In the solitude of cold wintery days, I find myself filled with memories of winters past, growing up in upstate New York. The autumn months were brief and the first measurable snowfall of the winter for a young child, was eagerly anticipated and happily greeted, especially if schools were closed for the day. My friends and I were stuffed into our snowsuits, "stadium" boots were tugged and pulled on and we wrapped brightly colored, hand knitted scarves around our necks and covered our hands with a couple of pairs of scarf-matching mittens. We usually wore so many layers of tops and sweaters under those suits, that we wobbled about but nevertheless, we would still race outside to greet that freshly fallen snow. Our yard was transformed into a blank white landscape and, like architects, we would begin filling it in with our creations. Snowmen appeared with coal eyes and grins, carrot noses, branches and twigs became their arms and a spare scarf would be wrapped around their necks. Maybe one or two would sport an old hat sitting rakishly on its head. Forts and igloos were built providing hours of creative play and we would delight in just plopping down backwards to make perfect snow angels! The hills became clogged with sleds and toboggans as adults came out to supervise the sledding and the air was filled with squeals and laughter. How exciting winter was as a child!
By the time we reached junior high school age, we were still happy with the first snowfall but were expected to help clear off the steps, knock down the hanging icicles from the metal railings, and aid in shoveling the walkway. I vividly recall the day I decided to eat one of those long, pure icicles hanging from the overhead railing and my tongue forze on it. My feet were off the ground, I was in a panic and couldn't really scream. Fortunately, my grandmother looked out, saw what had happened and came to my rescue with some lukewarm water to melt the ice without damaging my tongue. Lesson learned! Only after I had completed my share of clearing, could I go about playing with friends. We were older now, and making snowmen seemed childish. Time was spent crafting serious snowballs, some with pieces of ice imbedded in them, and after producing an adequately sized arsenal, the snowball fights were begun. Woe be unto you if you hit an adult with one. However, it apparently was acceptable to hit your friends unless it resulted in bloodshed. These years did not particularly give me joy as my extremities were always frozen, my glasses would get fogged up and no amount of hot chocolate could keep me warm. Getting hit by flying missiles was not pleasant either.
By the time high school years rolled around, our snow activities shifted to snowshoeing, skiing if you could afford it and ice skating. These activities could be exhilarating if one learned the proper techniques and had an aptitude for them but alas I did not have those skills. Yours truly only had skates and unfortunately, I only went forward on them - never did figure out how to go backwards or do those figure eights! We would sling our skates over our shoulder, hop on a bus and go up to a mill located on a creek and skate over the frozen water. I don't recall anyone ever falling in so it must have been pretty safe. There was an old shack with a potbellied stove to duck into for some quick warmth and maybe a hot cup of chocolate for a small fee. Music blared from a phonograph machine and for some participants, it was like a Currier and Ives scene as one skated to the various tempos of the music. I never really enjoyed those skating outings but joined in as it was the place to be seen.
By the time I went off to further my education, I gave up all pretense of enjoying the winter months. My favorite activity was to curl up by the fireplace in the main living area, read a book and sip hot tea thinking how nice it would be to hibernate 'til spring like the bears. Things haven't really changed that much in sixty-six years, except the fireplace has been replaced with a fake fur throw and the tea with a glass or wine.
How many more days 'till Spring?
Astonished to hear such different views on snow. I lived in south Texas where snow was a rare occasion. And in Texas, there were no hills for skiing nor skating rinks. We were excited and eager to see snow. We had no suitable clothing either. My mother did allow us to scoop up fresh snow to make snow ice cream...with a touch of vanilla and some milk over the snow, which I loved. Otherwise, I was too too cold to enjoy winter, even though I was excited.
I'm with you - can't we just hibernate after the holidays and wake up in late April?!