When I was a kid, a snow day from school was better than a scheduled holiday. The surprise of having a whole day with nothing planned, no schedule, no demands other than to stay out of my mom’s hair was cherished. No matter that the weather was too dangerous to send us out on the roads; we were bundled up and sent out to play. Forts were carved from the snowbanks. We trudged up and down the sledding hills until our boots and clothes were soggy and heavy. The wooden drying rack was set up and subsequently festooned with frozen mittens, socks and snow-suits. Newspapers caught the melting ice and became sodden as the smell of warming, wet wool filled the kitchen.
For many years at my home on the back of the mountain, I sat in my studio and watched as the world became a white wonder of peaceful quiet. Other than the birds gorging themselves at the feeder, there was no life outside my window.
My first official snow day here on Lake Skatutakee is a gift. I realize this is the first time in a year that I can just sit. There are no house showings on my calendar, no chores to complete in the effort to sell a house. Alice and I are snug and warm; our thoughts allowed to drift, (although I’m not sure Alice’s thoughts are anything like mine). There is certainty that we are simply here now and have no agenda to complete.
My fall view of the Lake
Today’s view of the lake
The daylight hours revolve around binge watching “The Crown”, foraging in the fridge for tasty leftovers, short trips out to clear the paths and move the truck for the plowman, and bouts of productivity working on bits of writing. The anatomy of the storm is such that the first, dusty motes have become fat sticky flakes. The wind is picking up, lifting the branches of the pines and sending squalls of snow into the already laden air. Cars silently drift by the window, the road is passable only with 4-wheel drive, hushing even the rumblings of the plow trucks. My world is monochrome and soundless.
Well, not quite monochrome if one looks closely…
Berries in Snow
Therapeutic Misadventures 
Beautifully written Martha! I can feel the snowy weight and wooly smell of the the mittens and the winter clothes drying after the snow day escapades.
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Thanks Holly, while modern fabrics such as polar fleece are an improvement, I miss the smell of damp mittens.
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After we came in from playing in the snow, we always had hot cocoa that had been warming on the woodstove. At this point, I am happier remembering snow days than living them!
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