It has snowed for two days in a row. Yesterday as I sat in my meditation spot watching the snow I thought, “How can I meditate when there is this lovely snow to watch?” Then I thought,” Well, that is a silly question! Meditate on the snow, of course!” And so I did.
I have great memories of snow as a kid. We lived on a cul de sac. Kids on each side of the street built snow forts and hurled snowballs across the street at each other. The father of my friend Kathleen Riley would hitch a big sled to his pickup truck and we kids would pile on. To our endless delight, Mr. Riley would drive us around the neighborhood. My mother would gather snow and make “snow cream.” Ahhh! What a treat that was. Occasionally we had snow days, like unbidden gifts of time to play. Even in college, I recall a particular night when we got word that school was called off the next day due to snow. That night was like a huge party in the dorm. One of the young women in the dorm offered to pierce my ears, which I had been considering and to which I agreed. She brought out a huge needle, cleaned my earlobes with alcohol and rubbed them with ice to numb them, then proceeded to pierce them. That just seemed to add to the celebratory atmosphere.
Life shifts. Would I put my grandchildren on a huge sled and allow them to be driven around behind a pickup truck? Would I make snow cream, knowing that the snow may carry pollution? Would I allow an untrained person to pierce my ears? (My mother’s reaction at the time? “You could have gotten an infection!”) Snow has sometimes presented an obstacle to getting to work. Sometimes snowfall has disrupted other plans. There was a hundred-year storm in 1993 when we got 21 inches of snow in our hometown in Tennessee. Terry’s and my expected trip to South Carolina, which would culminate in a workshop for our continuing education credits, was altered. We couldn’t even get out of our driveway. However, this weather event allowed for a really good family time. We cooked on the wood stove and played games with Jenna and our foster children. I worked with the girls on learning to sew. Terry and I tramped through the snow, two miles roundtrip, to get more milk. In adulthood, you learn to adapt, to go with the flow, to make the best of your circumstances, or you suffer for failing to do that.
I discovered there is controversy over the claim that the Eskimos have more than a hundred words for snow. However, they do have a variety: “aput,” snow on the ground; “qana,” falling snow; “piqsirpoq,” drifting snow; “qimuqsuq,” a snow drift, as some examples. Montana should have a vocabulary for snow too. Sometimes the snow falls in the tiniest flakes I have ever seen, nearly invisible but present. Less often, bigger flakes drift and swirl. Sometimes the snow is “drier,” making snowballs more difficult to pack. This week the snow has been moister, allowing for easier snowball creation. Always, though, I am aware that the snow is granting us some needed moisture, a blessing.
As I age, I am aware I appreciate the quiet sense that snow provides, the slowing down of life, a blessing of a different sort, for which I am grateful.
May we be bearers of hope, the “wait staff” of Hope’s Café for each other and all those we encounter. Shalom, Kate
Hope’s Café Bonus: Terry and I drove to Billings this week in very light snow., the temperature a little above freezing. We marveled at the fact the sun was shining and the clouds in the sky had no resemblance to what I understand snow-laden clouds to be. On farmersalmanac.com, I learned this fun fact: “Snow forms in the clouds where temperatures are freezing. However it can theoretically fall when the ground surface temperatures are in the mid-40s, sometimes even higher.”
And I share this quote I love (although I read that two scientists in a Wisconsin snow found two snowflakes alike. Boo. Hiss.)
“They say that every snowflake is different. If that were true, how could the world go on? How could we ever get up off our knees? How could we ever recover from the wonder of it?” – Jeanette Winterson
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