Winterspring

The wedding-cake world

Of a Minnesota spring.

Winter's parting gift.
~delayne. 

Tumbledown looked just like this last year, only two weeks later than today.

I whined about it then; a lot of natives did. We're not too happy about this snowstorm either, but we're dealing with it like we've been dealing now for months. It's Minne-snow-ta. It's what happens here. We're used to it.

And seriously? You can't step outside on a day like today and not be flippin' awed....

I'll be eating those words in a moment when I try to dig my driveway out of this heavy, heart-attack snow. But it's do-able in little bits. And during those moments of rest I'll look around myself with wonder.

These are the last breaths of this dying season. What a gift they are!

Thank you, Winter.
...

Wintry Play

More of a snowlady than a snowman...

Yesterday I shoveled slush, salted walkways, walked in the snow, made a snowman -- the first I've made in years, as I recall; the last being one I created ages ago for James on Valentine's Day.... 

When I initially went outside, making a snowman wasn't my intention; I was really only planning to create a path across the yard for the mailman so he wouldn't have to go back out to the icy street between houses in order to deliver my mail.

Shoveling the path is what I usually do (and sounds easier than it is), but since yesterday's snow was wet and sticky I couldn't help myself. The stuff was perfect! It was a sin to waste a snowman-making opportunity. And as I rolled the heavy snow along the pathway I recalled wintry days from my childhood, little Me desperately working with my wet woolen mittens to pack snow into a ball when it wouldn't stick together.

What began as play soured quickly. Moments earlier my across-the-street neighbor (a contractor) jogged past with his clipboard on the way to another neighbor's remodel project, and he'd already given me good-natured (I hope) grief:

"Playing? Really?? Some of us gotta WORK!"

I know he was teasing, but my ears heard the words like parental scolding and it bothered me that I just couldn't ignore them....

After he'd gone, the street became quiet once more and I quickly finished my task. It was just me in the snow again, my world all cotton wool-ish and insulated. It made me think of the recent snowfall just days before. James and I were outside clearing the driveway (thinking that we could expect much more snowfall and wanting to get ahead of the game), and the entire neighborhood was doing the same thing, burning through the pathetic amount of accumulation with their screaming snow blowers...

(Let me just say that I dislike snowblowers. I wish they hadn't been invented.Yes, I get that they're a godsend and all that. And it's not like I haven't been envious on those days when Mother Nature sees fit to bury me in an avalanche too big for me to dig myself out of....)

...and I couldn't help but notice my neighbor down the way, blowing out his driveway while his teenaged sons stood around talking to their friends. How different would it have been if they'd all shoveled together? Would they have conversed or joked like James and I do? Would they have noticed the birdsong or the sound of snowflakes falling or the rhythm of their shovels? There was an opportunity for something and it wasn't being taken! (It's like doing the dishes together; how many opportunities for conversation/problem-solving/bonding have been lost by the invention of the dishwasher?)

Love the winky face! :)

Anyway, I finished up my snowman quickly, not bothering to round out his edges or brush off the accumulation of grassblades and rabbit droppings. I picked dried hydrangea blossoms and poked them into his head for hair. A row of dotted Echinacea pods became his mouth; two more, his eyes. Milkweed stalks were his widespread arms. A row of withered daisy blossoms were his buttons. When he was finished, he looked more like an old snowlady in curlers than a snowman.

As the day melted on, he listed drunkenly to one side, still with the loopy smile. And when James saw him later that night, he suggested we scatter a couple cider bottles in the snow at his feet for the fun of it.

But today I went back out and straightened him up. I replaced a button and coiffed his hydrangea 'do. And now I'm considering making him a sign to hold:

"Make Time For Play. It's as Important as Work."

...  

My World is Still a Wonderland

Five days later and the frosting's still on the wedding cake!

Holy Snow!

The view from my bedroom window.

I woke yesterday morning to a tinkly, sparkly, wonderland just as I described it in my previous post! Snow stood inches deep on every horizontal surface. The trees were so flocked their branches bowed; and the rowan, with its sprigs of berries, looked like elves had bedecked it overnight in fat, white, Christmas decorations. Bird tracks dotted the surface of the snow and flakes still fell like sequins from the overcast winter sky.... Washington Street looked like a wedding cake!

Of course, I spent the day shoveling (and shoveling and shoveling), but there was hot chocolate and roasted chestnuts and candlelight and Christmas movies in between. And seriously? There's nothing better than being snowed in at Tumbledown.

Overnight the storm passed and now today is all sunshine and dripping icicles. There are still plenty of branches full of snow. On the outside, my muscles ache and smell of analgesics; but inside, my heart is full of the holiday spirit.

And my world? It still looks like a wedding cake. :)
...

A Snowy Promise

James thinks the weather forecasters are making much ado about nothing today and suspects we'll be lucky to see a single flake. But me? I'm planning for snow. To heck with the boots and the shovels and the sidewalk salt -- I'm preparing the cocoa and queuing the carols and lighting the candles. 

Because that first snow is MAGIC.

Remember those preschool years? Back then I'd wake to a different kind of light in my room and discover out the bedroom window an icy fairyland, its still-falling snowflakes glittering like sequins in the weak morning light. Looking back, I swear there was even a tinkly, icicle-chime soundtrack!

I'd impatiently wolf my breakfast of Maypo so Mom could pack me into my snowsuit and send me out into it. And once outside I marveled at the world's insulated silence. I tasted the snow and looked for animal tracks and tried to blaze a waist-deep trail. Soon the pristine yard was a mess of half-made snowmen and blurry angels, child-sized holes dug into snowbanks, crazy senseless routes right out of 'Family Circus.' Then, suddenly exhausted, I'd fling myself into a drift and stare up at the sky, dark in contrast to the fat white flakes that fell from it onto my tongue. My cheeks were on fire. There was snow melting in my boots, and my wrists were icy and blue where my mittens didn't quite reach my jacket cuffs. But go inside? No, not yet! Not even for hot tomato soup and soda crackers.

I have a feeling I napped well on those days; my mother must've loved it. But it's there that my memories of First Snowfalls seem to end. I'm sure there were other magical days like that. But maybe I was in school when they happened, or on my way to work or something. Years later, I remember suddenly realizing that those unbearable days of dropping everything and rushing out into that wonderland were over....

When my own Girlz were small, that magic began again for me. Only this time I hung onto it. And when they started their school years I did not forget the importance of that First Snowfall. If it happened on a school day, I kept them home. We went outside together to build forts and make snowmen, and when we returned inside once more, there was cocoa to sip. Sometimes there'd be popcorn. Or cookie dough to roll and shape and decorate. And always a wintry-themed picture book.

I've never regretted it. And the First Snowfall isn't the only holiday we created and kept, either. They're only little once. And the memories made (for myself as much as for them) are priceless and linger still.

How about YOU? What memories does that First Snowfall conjure? I'll bet they're pure magic too. :)
...
 

Finally -- a Snow Day for Unsnowy MN

Yesterday's beautiful storm

Leap Day did a number on us here in the Village. It definitely wanted to be noticed. It was!

 

After a night of heavy rain on Tuesday, all turned to snow; snow that was gorgeous but amazingly difficult to shovel. I rarely regret not having a working snowblower, but about the time my arms were falling off I was giving one some serious dang thought. Returning inside afterward to the comfiness of my chair and the promise of hot tea and a good book was especially appreciated.

 

And now today I'm feeling the effects of that bout with the storm. I only thought I'd been victorious! Threading my arms into my coat sleeves this morning was 'interesting,' to say the least. But all felt better once I ventured outside and greeted the day.

 

My usual route was compromised by puddles and plow trails and meant navigating lawns deep in snow just to get to the street proper to begin my walk. Ankle-deep water rushed along both curbs on its way to the storm drain, bubbling and whirlpooling there as it overwhelmed the narrow grates. Leaping over it all just wasn't in the cards for me, sore as I was.... 

 

Branches overhead -- still heavy with snow -- occasionally dropped slush in my path, and off in the distance droned the buzz of a chainsaw as the occasional homeowner dealt with old tree limbs unable to bear the weight of it all. It made for an interesting walk: in spite of the chaos left by the winter storm, all was white and pristine and made brilliant by the sunshine and singing birds. Even the chainsawers in their flannel shirts and rolled-up sleeves seemed to smile as they went about their work.

 

I rescued leaves rushing by in the torrent. I took pictures of an already melting fort dug from a sodden snow bank by school kids happy to call yesterday a Snow Day. I greeted a man shoveling waves of water down his driveway. I dodged snow 'bombs' and soaked up the sun. I smiled.

Smiled. Smiled smiled smiled.

Doesn't sound like much, I know, but this face noticed and was monumentally grateful.

...