Growing up in Wisconsin, winters tended to be long and snowy and cold. The season demanded respect and preparation and a hardiness of its subjects -- it was inevitable and was best embraced. Snow tires, ice scrapers, shovels, picks, wood burning fireplaces and stoves, snow pants, down coats, woolen mittens, long underwear, ski pants, flannel bedding, hearty soups, and hot chocolates and hot teas and hot toddies were all a part of life, part of the rituals that helped one endure the deep freeze.
Our childhoods were filled with snow angels, snow fights, snow men, and snow houses. Local parks and schools had ice rinks and shanties, sledding hills and toboggan runs, trails for snowshoes and cross country skis. Despite snow drifts that often hit the roof of our home and temperatures well below freezing for weeks at a time, school closings were infrequent. I remember waiting for the bus with my brother when the plow passed by, scooping up our book bags and lunches and musical instruments and athletic equipment. We had to dig them out of the tightly packed mounds of snow piled at the street corner and continue to wait for the bus which was late but certain to arrive.
This year, our second winter in Virginia certainly has more bite, but I would still describe Virginia winters as tender. And, I really appreciate tender, although I do miss the snow. Don't get me wrong, I don't think I'll ever wish for snow drifts and blizzard conditions again. However, I deeply long for a long, soft snowfall that blankets the streets, nestles the branches of the trees, and silences the neighborhood. Such a snowfall opens up space for one to nest at home, to read a book cover to cover, to binge watch favorite movies or a new series, to bake and cook and nap and dream.
Right before Christmas, we received a dusting of snow, and the forecast indicates we may get more in January. January is really the right time of year for snowfall, a bit of winter grace, an intermission from daily life that can add stress but also cultivate gratitude and foster reflection. I am thankful that the leaves cup the flakes and the ground permits snow cover and the air, cold and brisk, beckons for me to breathe deeply. For those in the throws of winter's grip north of here, I wish you strength and safety and solace in the knowledge that time and seasons march on. Written with warm thoughts, dear friends.
Winter Grace
Patricia Fargnoli
If you have seen the snow
under the lamppost
piled up like a white beaver hat on the picnic table
or somewhere slowly falling
into the brook
to be swallowed by water,
then you have seen beauty
and know it for its transience.
And if you have gone out in the snow
for only the pleasure
of walking barely protected
from the galaxies,
the flakes settling on your parka
like the dust from just-born stars,
the cold waking you
as if from long sleeping,
then you can understand
how, more often than not,
truth is found in silence,
how the natural world comes to you
if you go out to meet it,
its icy ditches filled with dead weeds,
its vacant birdhouses, and dens
full of the sleeping.
But this is the slowed-down season
held fast by darkness
and if no one comes to keep you company
then keep watch over your own solitude.
In that stillness, you will learn
with your whole body
the significance of cold
and the night,
which is otherwise always eluding you.
