Memories No. 2

Flakes fall like soft summer rain. The gentle folds of snow waltz through the sky before their journey comes to an end. They caress the earth. Safety in numbers. Their existence depends on elements out of their control. The first snowfall of the season. There is such delight in taking a moment to pause and watch the snow. It is moments like these that make me reflect on my life. The good and the bad. The lessons I have learned and the path I am walking. The decisions I have made and the memories of those I have left behind. I lean back in my chair and stair out the window. The purple clouds bank together, like a traffic jam. Slow to move, ominous yet unlike a traffic jam, gloriously pretty. I am protected from the elements. The fire spits as I fold my arms across my woollen chest. Caught by a feeling I drift into contemplation.

I was twelve years old when I first saw, felt and played in the snow. I was a country boy, born and bred, and it was only because of the hard work of my mother that enabled me to go to my year six camp that enabled me to, forty years later, recall the experience. It was the only excursion I attended at school, but the memories of that day will live with me forever. It was, as could be expected, a cool day. I was rugged up in snow clothes, a beanie and a scarf. I remember staring at the snow, and thinking to myself, “I am so damned cold.” I was excited of course and didn’t know what to expect. I had no one to guide me, no one to turn to to explain this phenomenon. I was simply given two instructions. The first was to get off the bus, and the second was to play. While I was eager to follow the first instruction it took me some time to abide by the second.  

I stood transfixed, cold and startled by the mass of white covering that lay knee deep as far as I could see. I clenched my arms tight to my body and rubbed my gloved hands together to keep warm. I was happy, like a child often is. Yes, I played in the snow with my friends. We indulged in the usual games and built a snowman. I had no idea then that such a name was to become so controversial. I was ignorant of lots of things, and in many regards I wish I still was. I have since learned that knowing things does not make one wise. It just makes life more confusing. I recall the experience with fondness, and after a mere hour we were loaded on the bus and escorted away, just like the tourists we were. It would be twenty-two years before I felt snow again.

It was a day much like today. Cold and miserable, depending on perspective, only I wasn’t sitting in my office watching the snowfall from a distance. I was making sure my daughters had their beanies and scarves on. I tied up their boots before we went out to do what I had done years earlier. On that day we woke to snow a foot thick. We lived out of town and the countryside was plastered white. It was such a joyous occasion. We had snowball fights, and built a snowman, with a carrot for a nose, while using my scarf and beanie to finish off the cliched rendition of the snowman. Their laughter still rings in my ears. I can feel the snow on my face, and down my back where my two oldest daughters decided to put snow down my shirt. I chased them in mock surprise. I cherish these moments. I did then, as I do now, but I wonder if I ever appreciated them as much then as I do now. 

The first snow always makes me happy. It brings back memories that are worth remembering. This year though, the snow means much, much more. Last year was a dry winter. For the first time in twenty years no snow fell. Winters are becoming warmer now, climate change or a natural cycle. I’m not willing to get into an argument about which, but winter on the mountain is not the same without the snow. I waited patiently, and then when the month came that it always snowed, I bided my time impatiently. Perhaps tonight. Maybe tomorrow. I hoped, I wished, and I prayed, but nothing. Now, I don’t expect everyone to understand, but the absence of such an occasion threw me off kilter. Winter did not feel the same. 

The snow is falling heavier now and though it’s late afternoon I call my daughter, after strict instructions to do so if such an event occurred again. I can hear her partner in the background, shuffling the kids off to get dressed. “We’re going to Grandads.” The kids squeal with delight, because they have never seen snow. They live twenty miles away at the bottom of the range, and will be here soon. The snow is now cascading out of the sky like a waterfall. Layer after layer is folding on the moist earth. I stoke the fire, and add another log. It immediately catches fire. I move from my desk to the lounge, pick up my book and begin to read. After five minutes I stop reading, recall the page number and put the book down. I get dressed in a pair of work pants, thick socks and an old pair of boots. I sport a yard shirt, and my winter coat. I top off the ensemble with a scarf, beanie and my best pair of gloves. Pleased and feeling quite mischievous I brave the elements of the world beyond the door.

Forty minutes later my daughter arrives. They hustle out of the SUV and the kids are dressed as I am. They are happy. Jett scoops up snow in his hands and turns to show his father. His smile is priceless. Sofia is unsure how to respond. Not now, the moment is not right. Some words are exchanged and there is some muttered talk that I can’t make out. They are too far away. I wait, this time patiently, for snow has a way of slowing both myself and time down. They approach after a minute and I hear my daughter say, after she grabs Sofia by the hand, “come on let's go find grandad.” They stepped lightly along the driveway, the snow crunching under their feet. The timing was right, they didn’t expect a thing.

“Snowball fight.” I lobbed a snowball from behind the fence. The missile hit my son in law in the chest. He let out a hearty laugh, and the fun was on. Such a single act set off a series of events that transpired over the next hour. After the brief, yet joyous exchange of hastily constructed snowballs and a round of laughter we retired to the gentle slope of the back yard and began the inevitable construction of a family of snow people. They stood a little lopsided, and askew. Still they were dressed in our winter gear as we disrobed the outer layer before taking photos and then moving inside to embrace the warmth the small cottage provided. It was the most fun I have had in many years. I learned a lot that day. 

I am always learning. Mostly I learn about myself, and life of course. Time shapes who we are and who we become. Reflection gives our memories meaning. I am not sure I could have experienced today more profoundly than I could have with my own children. Time will convince me that I could have, but I think that reflects the distance between where I was then, and where I am now. Before the memories fade I am committed to making the make of every moment. The only difference between then and now is me. As I age, I have learned to accept that you can’t buy time but you can most certainly appreciate every little bit of it you have left.