A muted sun filters through my bedroom windows, unbroken by shades or blinds. I blink out the sleep and roll over, outside a blanked of fresh snow covers every surface. Overnight the first snow as graced our slice of heaven. I’m a snow guy, I have always been moved by the way a fresh snow storm changes this world. It hides our blemishes, our unfinished projects. It creates opportunity for new ways of having fun, break out the skies, the snowshoes, the sleds. Let us build a snowman, or tunnel through the mounds of snow left after clearing the roads, or lets turn our ravine into a twisting turning luge. But not today, today is just for walking. I head outside and trek down
the driveway. The wind whispers through the conifers lining both sides of Haucke Lane, a background sound not unlike the sound of a distant waterfall. Snowflakes come small and wet, they tickle my cheek and nose when they alight on my skin. I have so many fond memories that involve snow, from childhood days on the farm, from my days in Colorado or even from my brief stint at Whitewater where I shoveled sidewalks in the early hours of the morning as a side job. I can remember bringing the cows in from outside on a cold blustery night, their backs would be covered in snow that would quickly turn into steam as they entered the barn. Before long the whole barn
would be filled with a dense fog from 60 large bovine. If it was a cold night that steam would combine with the vapor of the cows breath, it would envelope the milking area and I would find a nice warm spot by a favorite animal, make a little bed out of the uneaten hay and take a nap under the watchful eye of mother cow. Later in life as a ski bum, fresh snow meant fresh tracks. Surfing down a hill, catching a face full of the white stuff as you blasted through a powder covered tree run. Now snow means the end of a season, it means taking time in the morning to sip coffee and stare out the window. It means seed catalogs in the mail and dreams of the season to come.