Memory Lane: February 11, 2010

one of the strange parts of living in Florida, after spending the first 25 years of my life in Connecticut, is the almost non-existent change of seasons. it's easy to lose track of time when all the days feel the same. there are subtle changes here, but you have to really pay close attention, and probably live here for several years, to notice them. it was really only recently that i have been able to detect the slight shift from one "season" to another. for the most part, the seasons all bleed one into the next, with no real indication of arrival or departure, save for the photos that pop up on blogs or Facebook or the evening news.

with the mid-Atlantic coast and the northeast getting hammered by a string of snow storms marching across the country, i started to think about Winters when i was a kid. i remember the dejected disappointment of the milder Winters, when all we got was bitter wind, frosty temperatures, chilling rains, and a drab brown landscape that made me long for even a meager dusting of snow. i recall the years that we got the "mixed bag": sleet, freezing rain, slush, and just enough snow to turn grey-brown with sludge and sand along the edges of the road.

but what stands out in glittering splendor in my mind's eye are the years like this one--the Winters that turned my favorite place on earth into a magical wonderland.



beautiful heavy snow that stuck itself to the bare branches and the harsh edges of the world, sparkling like diamonds as the sun peeked up over the horizon, bathing Chippens Hill in spectacular morning light. this was the view i held my breath for, hoping it would greet me as i peered from the upstairs landing window on my way down to the kitchen for chocolate milk and toast with homemade jelly.

it was breathtaking to see my world decorated with new snowfall, freshening up the drifts from previous days, covering the tire tracks and the footprints that punched holes in the yard's snow-covered surface, evidence of children running and playing in the clear biting-cold air. after the snow fell, the world would be made pristine again. the sight of an untouched world, blanketed in white puffs of snow, always made me gasp a little with awe. it is one of my earliest memories of pausing to truly appreciate and revel in the beauty of the world--before spilling out into it, wrapped in sweatshirts and long underwear, socks and boots, coats and hats, gloves and scarves, to climb drifts and roll down snow piles and run through the yard, leaving a trail of footprints and snow angels in my wake, until the chill and dampness had soaked through the layers upon layers.

and then i would retreat indoors to thaw out, gazing out the window as i warmed, dreaming of the next day, wishing Gram & Gramp's yard would again be transformed by Mother Nature's arctic breath.