Snow in December!
To have both sunshine and snow in December is a gift.
On Monday, I woke to the town plow rumbling down my road: A few inches had fallen, and it was still coming down.
This was a tremendous gift after last winter’s dearth of snow and this past summer’s drought. We need the water; plant roots need the insulation; the rodents in the field need the protection that all falls with the snow.
Despite predictions that rain would follow, it hasn’t. Instead, we have blinding sunshine bouncing off a field of snow.
Monday, I shoveled the path to the hen house after the plow had cleared the drive. Even though only five inches fell, the plowman pushed the snow far onto the lawn, making room for the possibility for future, bigger, fluffier, more wonderful snow.
I followed suit, creating wide margins on either side of the path, so there’s a place to shovel the next snowfall and the one after that. One can only hope for more snow.
Perhaps I am proverbially looking the gift horse in the mouth, but I’m greedy for a white winter.
I’ve already taken advantage of this snowfall. I strapped on my snowshoes yesterday afternoon and trekked across the field down to the river, which is starting to ice up. If it stays cold enough, soon we’ll be able to walk on water metamorphosed to ice.
Tuesday, I cross-country skied out my back door on tracks Tim set by moonlight. “The light was yellow,” he said. “The snow looked like butter!”
There’s a full moon tonight, and I hope to join him.
If I can stay up till midnight, I might even catch the Geminid Meteor shower. Sure, astronomers are warning the moonlight will dim visibility, and I may only see forty meteors a minute instead of the usual one-hundred and twenty. Oh well.
In this dark season, there is nothing quite so wonderful as the magical transformation of landscape and light that comes with snow in December.
The backpacking recipes promised last week in The Food We Carried will post soon – I promise! But Living in Place always means adjusting to nature, whether it’s the destruction caused by flood or a gift, like snow in December.
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