When we lived in town, I could always tell when it had snowed during the night. I would wake up, and all the outside sounds would be muffled. Out here on the acreage, the only sound we get, usually, is the wind. So it was a bit of surprise to wake up Saturday morning to discover I was living in a snow globe. Winter has arrived.
Not on the calendar, of course. Minnesota winters do not feel the need to constrain themselves to some artificially enforced time line. They creep out in either direction, hanging on longer than we would like, showing up earlier than we'd hoped. They are the ultimate bad guest.
I grew up in southern and central California. Winter, for us, was a time of fog and rain. Occasionally, the edges of the puddles would gain a slim margin of ice, which we kids found highly entertaining. Snow was like Disneyland: something we planned and traveled for. About once a year, we would head to the mountains to "see the snow". Since we didn't have the required clothing, we improvised. Jeans awkwardly forced over top of sweat pants. Two long sleeved shirts and hoodie worn under the lightweight "winter coat" we used in the valley. We would drive for hours, arrive in Yosemite National Park, find an empty field, play in the snow, load up the car, buy hot chocolate, and head home, feeling like we had really experienced winter. One year, at home, I made some statement about how it "doesn't feel like Christmas without snow", which caused some major hilarity in the family: at that point in my life, I'd never actually seen snow while it was falling.
Easter was a time for pastel sun dresses and white sandals. My easter dress was always some lightweight, frothy confection that I couldn't help twirling and skipping about in. We would put on sunscreen before heading out to the egg hunt on the lawn of the courthouse, surrounded by lush greenery and a riot of flowers. A picnic usually followed.
Homemade halloween costumes were often based off of a leotard and tights, and trick-or-treating didn't stop until your feet hurt too bad to keep going, or your plastic pumpkin was stuffed to overflowing. We often had a halloween-themed birthday party for my sister (born November 1st), and the backyard would be used for bobbing for apples and other games.
My kid's reality is slightly different. Oh, those frothy easter dresses and cute sandals hit the stores just the same as they did when I was young. But, in Minnesota, easter often arrives when snow is still on the ground. With my boys, at least, we could go with a long sleeved dress shirt and a pastel sweater vest. For the girls? Those twirly dresses I loved so much are completely impractical. One year, I made Bryn a dress: pale pink polar fleece, worn over a white turtle neck, leggings that were one step removed from being pants, and snowboots. If you want to have fun with hiding eggs, don't dye them. Throw the eggs out in the yard to blend in with the snow. Good luck, kids!
Halloween costumes are selected based on what can fit over a snowsuit. It would be climatically, if not culturally, appropriate to go as Inuit every year. Trick-or-treating ends as soon as one of the kids complains that they can't feel their fingers and toes (which is usually about 45 minutes after I've decided I'm on the verge of succumbing to hypothermia, myself). A few years ago, Bryn actually braved sleet to collect her share of the diabetes bait. Luckily, by then she was traveling in a pack of friends, because there was no way in hell I was going out there.
And the snow. Piles and piles of it. Drifting over the driveway, burying the car, getting tracked into the house to melt into icy little puddles just waiting for stockinged feet. For them, it really won't feel like Christmas without snow. Skiing and sledding and ice skating are things that people really do, rather than abstract stories in books. Granted, they also get to deal with the sub-zero windchills, which, once you emerge from behind the thickest part of our shelter belt, down by the mailbox, are downright brutal. And that, of course, is right where the school bus will pick them up.
This probably sounds pretty negative. The fact is, I love it. The snow is amazingly beautiful, and peaceful. The cold makes me think hard about whether or not I really need to go run that errand...which means I spend more time doing things at home with my family, and less time running around. One year, during a particularly busy and stressful Christmas, a perfectly-timed Christmas Eve blizzard stranded us at the apartment we lived in. I was initially upset about the various family gatherings we were missing, but it ended up being one of my favorite memories. We stayed in. Just me, BJ, and the two older kids (the younger two having not been born yet). The complex had an indoor pool and spa, and we ventured down to make use of it. We were the only ones there, and the snowflakes outside were the size of cotton balls.
And, after 20 years living in the midwest, I have adapted. I've learned how to layer. I'm ashamed to admit that it took until two years ago before I discovered the wonder of wool socks, and snow boots chosen for their function rather than their fashion. I own snowpants. I've got a hat lined with real rabbit fur. I'm even starting to eyeball my husband's Carhart coveralls (I call them his Gingerbreadman Suit), with a thought towards getting my own. Little by little, I am laying claim to this season.
This year, for my birthday, I got snowshoes. That snow globe world out there is just waiting to be explored.
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