First it rained, and then the Vikings lost, a blizzard and finally a three foot drift of snow blocking the driveway. Winter, isn’t it a wonderland?
When I was very young I loved winter. The snow provided me with hours and hours of enjoyment: snow forts and snowball fights; making angles in the new fallen snow; building the biggest snowman in the neighborhood; and ice skating at the local outdoor ice rink. I particularly enjoyed the block long walk down the alley to the ice rink. The light of the full moon would illuminate the alley so that it felt like I was walking through a magical kingdom. As I got older it was off to the ski hills. Winter snow provided me with hours and hours of excitement: the warmth of the sun bathing the slope; no need for a winter jacket because my hand knit angora sweater was all I needed to stay warm. A perfect day on the slope was when there was a blanket of freshly fallen powder covering the runs.
I used to love the bright sun filled mornings after a storm like we had on Monday. The cold added an element of crispness to the air. Looking back, I think one of those mornings was the beginning of the end of my love for winter. One January morning as I dressed for my college classes, it looked so beautiful…so clear…so crisp…so clean with the new fallen snow…that I decided to wear a skirt to school. I slipped into my knee length pleated skirt, pulled up my knee high socks, slipped on my jacket, gloves, hat wrapped my scarf around my neck and across my mouth and started my six block walk to my first class in Minard Hall. When I got to the point of no return – about half way to my class – I realized that it was really, really, really, really cold out. I had no feeling in the only exposed area of my skin – my knees. Since it was as far back home as it was to my class, I continued to class. About half way through my class, it felt like someone was thrusting tiny needles into my knees. It was not pleasant. After class I headed to the health care clinic and was told that I had frozen both of my knees. Long story short – they still hurt whenever it gets cold.
I am pretty sure that’s when my love of winter began to wane.
With this last blast from Mother Nature, I think it is time to begin looking at my gardening catalogues and thinking about spring and summer. I have found that when I sit and look at the garden designs and pictures of flowers in the catalogues I can almost hear the early morning singing of the birds. As I take in a deep breath I can imagine the great perfumes of spring: the fragrance of old fashioned deep purple lilacs, the apple blossoms, and the plentiful spirea. I can feel the moist black dirt glide through my hands as I plant tomatoes and sow seeds in the garden.
So, go ahead Mother Nature - bring it on! Spring that is.
