'Twas last night on a not-too-terribly-late drive home, when I was still pretty awake and capable of not only an awareness of my surroundings, but also an appreciation. It snowed here in Asheville last weekend (a week ago tonight, to be exact) and a hell of a storm it was. No matter how far in advance this city gets a warning, we are never prepared when the storm actually hits. It's sweet really, how freaked out mountain folks become in a blizzard, how we don't even attempt to plow the roads sometimes. I like to think that this task is purposefully neglected though, for the allowance of the magical moment that may only come two or three times a year of waking up after a wild snow, looking out across the lawn and not being able to spot where the yard ends and the road begins. So after a few days of recovering from this (unnecessary) shock that is snow, we began driving safely on roads again a few days back. The snow is still here though, maybe no longer on the roads, but teen degrees does not allow for the disappearance of four inches of pure white bliss anytime soon. Which is great, because snow is just that: purifying, refreshing, and memory-evoking.
Unless your childhood was spent in a snowless place, where tropics ruled over seasons (and for you, I am heartily sorry), a good snow will most likely always lead to memories of snowy days years ago. Christmastime is definitely always blanketed in snow in my mind, even if there was snow on Christmas only two or three times in Cincinnati. But the stories we know of winter, the films we watched, and the books we read all only help to magnify this snowy magic, and although summer was wonderful, it is the snowy memories that will rule my childhood stories now and for years to come.
I have the pleasure, the blessing, the advantage of living in an city with a breath-taking landscape, and even more so when it is covered in snow. While driving home from a merry time with new friends, I passed one of these landscapes to my right, one that was naturally lit enough that I could make out the shapes and shadows of the snow on this wooded hill. Without even wanting it, without desiring a blog-worthy moment, childhood memories began flooding my mind. Literally, flooding. Tears from the flood welled in my eyes, my (already running, courtesy of those freezing temps) nose began leaking a little bit more, and the preciousness of my own self as a small child with wild dreams and desires and the memories of overwhelmingly wonderful blessings I had then, but did not appreciate as such, were just too much for my vulnerable emotions last night. Looking into that snowy patch of woods reminded me of one simple desire for a magical moment, one that was never fulfilled.
Really, it was so simple. My infatuation with the snow and the romance it allowed for cultivated these wild desires in my heart to take full advantage of the snow, the way Lydia Maria Child did. Yes, I wanted to arrive at grandmother's house on a sleigh, for the horse would know the way to carry the sleigh... and you know the rest. I never understood why it wasn't possible. The risk of freezing in the what probably would have been 3 hour sleigh ride (and that's with Super Saver leading the way) never dawned on me. I just wanted to ride on a horse through the woods to get to Grandma's. Maybe there weren't even woods to ride through, I don't know. Perhaps there wouldn't have been white and drifted snow on that Thanksgiving Day. But I was sure that it could happen.
My dream was never realized, though. It actually didn't snow that much in south-western Ohio. Six would have been a tight squeeze, and we definitely didn't have access to a sleigh. Nor a horse, for that matter. The interstate seemed a much more comfortable (and safer) route, and the terrain was not too woodsy but mostly plains anyway. The magic that I craved in my childhood was never discovered, and at that age it was quite a disappointment. What I never appreciated though, what as a child seemed just like life and nothing all that special at all because I didn't get to ride a sleigh in the snow to get to Grandma's, what I never saw was that childhood was magic. A magic that, with an intense imagination, lightheartedness and many other childlike attributes we adults pine for, has vanished from my present life. It was magical to have time to sit and read Child's poem, over and over and over again. Magic was time to daydream. Magic was having a grandmother's house to which imagine taking a sleigh ride, grandparents with whom to celebrate the holiday. All of this is now gone, replaced with reality and voids, wisdom and memories. Magic because all of these things seem unreal, like a dream, or something from a long time ago in a far away land. When really, that magic was reality.
Oh, to be a child. How fleeting, how sparse were these precious moments.
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