By Rose Meeks Jones

As a child, I eagerly awaited the arrival of snow. There was nothing quite like seeing those first flakes and looking forward to the promise of a day off from school and snow adventures with my three brothers. 

Our Mom bundled us up and sent us out to play. We built snowmen, created snow angels with squeals of joy and screamed with abandon flying down a hill on a sled our cheeks aglow with cold. At our favorite sledding hill, our parents would build bonfires and supply us with thermoses of hot cocoa and soup. All the neighborhood kids would be there. Not everyone had a sled, but we shared, and everyone had a go at the hill. Once you hit the bottom of that hill, there was a long straightaway and you could coast for almost a full city block! 

We spent days trudging through the woods, trees decked out in white, rolling down the hills like human snowballs, marveling at icicles along the creek and having snowball fights. We’d head home wet and frozen to the bone, noses running, warm up by the fireplace and change into dry duds. Mom would have our favorite lunch of tomato soup and grilled cheese prepared and then dry and fortified from the inside, out we’d go to do it all over again; not to be seen back at home until it began to get dark. We’d have supper, get a hot bath and snuggle into our PJs before conking out from the sheer joy of our winter’s delight! 

I remember Christmas caroling in the snow. It was magical riding from house to house on a hay wagon, our laughter and chatter carrying through the snowy twilight. We’d pile into the doorway of a home and serenade the inhabitants ending with a rousing chorus of carols. Then it was back out in the cold and on to the next dwelling!

Mama’s backyard birdfeeders were particularly popular on snowy days. A feeder outside our bathroom window would be filled with sunflower seeds, peanut butter, or a frozen ball of suet. I spent hours during the winters gazing out that window; arms on the sill raptly watching our feathered friends. There were brilliant red cardinals and their much less showy mates, charming little chickadees, the little gray tufted titmouse, diminutive brown wrens, brash and splashy blue jays, and dark gray snowbirds all with their accompanying songs; their bright eyes hungry for the bounty of our feeders. 

A favorite thing of mine through the years has been to take a walk while it’s snowing. Things are hushed and so peaceful. The tiniest sound is amplified yet muffled at the same time. Walking through the snow is good for the soul and breathtakingly beautiful! Snow makes everything look new and fresh. It softens edges. When the sun finally comes out, snow glistens and sparkles to rival the most brilliant of diamonds and sports shadows the most amazing shades of azure and violet.

I now enjoy snow mostly through a window; my days of playing in the snow are well behind me. But I love watching it work its magic on the world. I still get excited when it starts to fall, filled again with a childlike anticipation that brings a wealth of memories welling up and a smile to my face. It seems incongruous that something so cold can fill us with such warm memories; memories of a place and time when joys were simple and happiness was a day off from school and a chance to traipse about knee-deep in snow, screaming with joy at being alive and catching snowflakes on our tongues. 

Rose Meeks Jones is a freelance writer and former owner of The Blue Vine Wine Shop.