The First Snow

November is a very dark month in Stockholm. This year it had seemed longer and more depressing than in previous times. Peter would drag himself out of bed in the mornings and found it hard to get motivated to start a new day. It was dark when he went to work, and it was dark when he finished at the end of the day. It was not welcoming to come home to an empty, dark cold house and he found himself longing for the change of season.

This Sunday morning was different. The first snow had fallen during the night and now as he stood in the verandah looking out, he found the landscape was covered in snow. Everything seemed brighter at once and he took a deep breath as he watched the scenery. The big pine tree down the bottom of the garden was dressed in a thick white winter coat and the steps down to the path were no longer visible. He watched the little footsteps in the snow from the birds that had moved across the white lawn, they would soon disappear as the snow continued to fall. Everything seemed so quiet, and the landscape was now covered in a blanket of white cotton; peaceful, soft, and cozy.

He lit the pipe and pulled the dressing gown tighter around him. The snow fell silently like little stars from the grey sky and if it continued like this, he would soon have to shovel it away from the steps out the front. He was glad it was Sunday, and he did not have to go to work. It was hard to walk down the hill to the train station before the council plow cleared the footpath and sometimes if the snow melted and the temperature dropped below freezing the snow would turn to ice and it would become slippery. Ruth, the neighbor across the street, fell last year as she was walking down the hill to the shop and ended up in hospital with a broken hip. It was not easy getting older and your bones getting frailer. He had to make sure he had sand in the bucket ready to put on the step to keep it from getting slippery.

The grandfather clock struck 10, reminding him to have breakfast before his daughter would phone from Australia. He moved to the kitchen and opened the window to put some seeds out into the birdhouse. There was snow in there now and he knew the sparrows and finches would appreciate to be fed now when food was getting hard to find.

The letter was on the table. He read it again while eating his porridge and smiled at Christines description of the summer she was experiencing. “We swim every day in the sea and this morning three dolphins came very close to us. It was so beautiful. The temperature rose to 31degrees this afternoon and you should see how beautiful our hibiscus is with bright pink and salmon pale flowers. I have never seen a two-toned hibiscus before. I took some photos and will send them to you….”

He marveled at the contrast of the climate, when it was winter in Sweden it was summer in Australia. He had hoped she would come home for Christmas, but he knew she did not want to leave the summer “down under.” Perhaps she would be home in July when it was winter at her end. She had always loved the first snow and he remembered when they all put their skies on and skied through the forest. Sometimes they would take the blue track which led to the steeper hills further away and they competed for who would get there first and who was the fastest down the hill. It seemed like a long time ago now. He remembered how your feet got cold and wet through the ski boots and they would dry them in front of the heater when they got home. Gloves and socks had little snowballs attached to the yarn as the snow froze from the body heat and they would hang them on the heater to dry.

Christine loved it when he plowed the lawn down the bottom of the garden and filled it with water to make an ice-skating rink. They hung colored lights in the trees, and it lit up the scenery, turning it into a fairyland in the evenings and during the day when the sun shone the snow and ice would sparkle like little diamonds.

He remembered the winter when they had walked on the frozen lake at Hellasgården, the park they visited in the summers and the winters, and the dog “Humpty” fell through into the icy water. They thought he would drown as the ice continued to break up around him when he tried to crawl back up and there was nothing they could do to save him. Then suddenly he managed to get up onto the thick ice and he was safe. They were all crying, hugging him and giving him hot tea from the thermos as they wrapped him in mum’s overcoat. Yes, he must ask Christine if she remembered any of this, but of course she would.

Yes, November seemed long and dreary. His wife had passed on in October just before her 57^th birthday in November. And although it was many years ago now the memories always returned during this time. He never really knew how he got through it all but Christine and her boyfriend were there and if it was not for them God only knows how he would have managed to survive. It was not easy to say goodbye to them when they moved to Australia a few years later but he was happy to know his daughter had a good life there and seemed happy with her husband. The thought of going to Australia for a visit had occurred to him more than once but the distance scared him and besides that he was not getting any younger. How could he take to that dreadful heat? And then there was work. He did not really want to close the shop. He was turning 80 in December, and nobody really expected him to keep his barbershop going but it was the social scene that kept him there, the patrons, the familiar faces, and the many friends over the years. He was very scared of becoming isolated at home. It was not that he did not like his own company but over the years he had seen too many men becoming widowers and stagnating at home with nothing to do except watch tv and feed the birds. He was not going to let that happen to him and was determent to stay in his house and his shop for as long as he could.

There he was thinking again as he sat by the kitchen window looking out on the road. Tire tracks from a few cars had set deep in the snow and the street was empty and there were no footsteps on the footpath yet.

The phone rang and he hurried into the sitting room and to his favorite chair. It was Christine, his beautiful daughter. She sounded happy as she told him about her day on the beach over there in Australia. She said her tan was the same color as gingerbread and they laughed. He said everyone was so pale and rugged up over here and then he told her about the first snow and how beautiful it was. It was just then he saw the young reindeer outside the window digging in the snow where the autumn tulips had grown.

“Yes,” he thought, “the little miracles that come to us.” He described the scene for her and heard her laughing with delight.

-        Will the snow be there for Christmas? she asked.

He said he did not know, but as it had come so early, he did not think so.

-        It will be there for your birthday, surely.

He paused, trying to think of the right thing to say. He was not going to celebrate his birthday; he really did not want to think about it. The neighbor had asked him over for dinner, but he had not made up his mind yet. It was just another day.

-        Well, I guess you might as well know now. We are coming home for your birthday and will stay over Christmas and the New Year!

-        Sure, you don’t mind some extra company?

He held the phone in a firm grip and for a second or two he thought he imagined her saying it, but she repeated it again and began to tell him of her travel plans.

The veranda looked different now, it was light with the reflections from the snow still falling outside and he felt tears of joy coming to his eyes. Outside the reindeer was still there. and she would be home for Christmas!

Now he would get on with the day, there was much to think about.