Despite the media hype last week about the Big Blizzard, we had only five inches of snow in southern Vermont. But this week, in the ordinary course of winter events, we had a foot of new snow.
Whether it was because this snowfall didn’t threaten the major metropolitan areas along the eastern seaboard, or because it was too soon for newscasters to replay a weather disaster, the new snow fell quickly and quietly.
The quiet, in particular, was a relief. At its best, snow has a calming effect, slowing traffic, muffling sound, and encouraging people to stay safely at home – which is what I did.
Ironically, I was scheduled to spend the weekend after the blizzard in Boston, but Boston was hit hard. Besides, the paltry five inches from the monster storm were five more than before. It didn’t just refresh the landscape like a new coat of paint, it also covered the ice and opened the way for winter sport.
I quickly rearranged my plans, and instead of a long weekend of urban pleasures, I spent the weekend around home with my honey, gleefully exhausting myself outdoors.
We ventured to a nearby state forest in a neighboring state, where we skied deep into a hemlock forest, breaking a sweat as we broke trail.
We snow shoed atop our local river, which froze over in deep slabs of ice. While we walked through the otherworldly landscape of snow and ice, we heard water music as the river glugged and churned and chinked in a percussive and liquid symphony under our feet.
The third day of our long weekend dawned bitterly cold and windy. We layered on our fleece and polypro and trekked up a hillside near home. We stuck to the woods where sunlight illuminated the trees, which squeaked and groaned in the wind. Working our way uphill, we generated our own heat and achieved fabulous views. (Too cold for photos.) We returned tired, happy to drive into town for the Met in HD and a restful Saturday afternoon at the opera.
By Sunday, with the workweek on the horizon, we headed out for one last ski, this time on groomed trails at a local cross-country ski center. Whether on account of the Super Bowl or the new snow in the forecast, the trails were empty, and we skied in the slant of the afternoon sun.
Before I moved to Vermont, I’d come here for vacation; one of the reasons I stayed was on account of the weather. Weather happens. It reminds us we’re only residents of a planet bigger than us; we’re just living in place.
Deborah Lee Luskin writes to advance issues through narrative, telling stories to create change. She’s a writer, educator and pen-for-hire.
Great writing, gorgeous picture. All that snow reminds me of when we lived in Burlington, VT. Much like it is here Boston now.
The quiet calming effect of a heavy snow is something I miss here in
CA. It sounds like a perfect weekend.
We’re now into the deep and glorious part of winter with piles of snow!