The Christmas ornaments are carefully packed away for another year. A new stack of books teeters on my nightstand. Our freezer and pantry are stocked with casserole and soup fixings. Winter’s beauty, as well as its darkness, awaits.
On the farm, winter was a time of reviewing, planning, and some extra rest. We had more time with our dad, glorious outside play, and always kept ourselves entertained without today’s twenty-four-hours-a-day streaming options. I think we read books and comics, studied the World Book encyclopedias, colored and crafted, played games, and most likely daydreamed. We learned to keep ourselves busy, and I don’t remember being bored, even though we couldn’t pull out a smart phone and start scrolling!
And of course, childhood memories aren’t complete without recalling many intense storms and blizzards. If the winter winds blew and the snow swirled outside, we listened excitedly to the growing list of school closings on WKZO 590 on the radio. If a heavenly snow day was announced, we knew outside adventures awaited!
Once Dad’s chores were done, he might take us to the sledding hill—hauling us on our toboggan behind his tractor. If we had ice on the pond, we trudged back in our heavy snow gear, shovels and skates in hand.
After one especially snowy and windy event, we discovered huge drifts covering the drainage ditches. We each created our own snow cave and carved out tunnels to connect one to another. Within our snow-encampment-system, we found we were warm and could even take off our mittens.
Occasionally we would lose power and as evening approached, our mom lit candles and found the oil lamps. We sat around the table together, or gathered in front of the fireplace, and had our supper. The loss of power always prompted us to ask our parents about “the old days.” Funny how we imagined our thirty-something parents’ childhoods!
Our children also loved being outside in the snow: They stuffed themselves into their snow pants, pulled on their boots, worked hard to keep their mitten cuffs tucked inside their coats’ sleeves, and at this point, usually called for help. I zipped their coats, secured their hats, and out they tumbled—soon running and screaming around the yard. If the snow packed, they built snowmen, threw snowballs, built forts. A small slope in our side yard became their sledding hill. They played on “snow mountains” eventually created by the plows in the cul-de-sac. And like all generations before them, they loved celebrating a snow day!
Late one snowy afternoon, my friend Paula and I stood in our yard as our children, the neighborhood Peanuts gang, ran and spun around us. The snow fell quietly, thick little doilies, and the world stopped spinning.
Paula and I stood in our own little snow globe: we paused and smiled at one another, feeling rich in our friendship, taking in this breathtaking scene, and appreciating the peace of this moment.
Winter’s pace allows more time for reflection. For thinking about the upcoming year.
And for me, this season encourages gratitude: thankfulness for a warm house, my family and friends safe and provided for, and the beauty all around us.
It’s a Fine Life
