It happens every December, just as we approach the end of the calendar year.
We tilt our heads to the sky and peer up in expectation. Some of us are hopeful that the heavens will deliver the goods. The rest of us hold our collective breath in anxious dread. The object of this curious behaviour that we display is none other than snow.
That’s right. Snow. It is said that the Inuit, the Indigenous people of our North, have over a thousand words for snow, depending on the texture, consistency, temperature, and dozens of other factors that affect its appearance and origins. We here on the southern Left Coast mostly call it just plain old snow, although we probably have a similar number of names for rain (that are all preceded by a word that starts with the letter “f”).
Where does snow come from, you might ask. Scientists and other experts in the field will try to convince you that it has something to do with precipitation, temperature, clouds, air pressure, condensation, evaporation and gravity. Don’t believe them; they are wrong. Remember, these are the same “Smarties” who tried to explain Santa, the Tooth Fairy and where babies come from. They will just confuse you.
No, if you want to understand snow, you have to go back to your kindergarten class when your teacher first taught you how to create snowflakes by folding a blank sheet of paper over on itself several times and then using scissors to cut little notches out of it. If you somehow succeeded in making the cuts with those dull, almost useless scissors, the sheet would unfold into an intricate geometric pattern that resembled the magnified appearance of a single snowflake. All the tiny shapes that had been cut and notched out of the original folded sheet were left in several piles on the school desk or on the floor. These were later swept up and taken to a snowflakes reservoir where they were mysteriously propelled up into the clouds. When there was no more room for them up there, they fell back to the ground. Hence, snow. We should all thank our kindergarten teachers.
Let’s get back to the original question. Snow or no snow? Which will it be? A blanket of white covering this lovely piece of paradise we share with each other, or that normal soggy sponge of greenery that we slosh and tromp through for most of the winter? Into what camp do you fall? Snow or wet lush green? Who’s dreaming of a white Christmas, anyway?
It’s a tough choice. Frozen water lines and flushing toilets with a bucket of melted snow, or the freedom from homework because snow days mean the school buses will be grounded and classes cancelled.
Frosty the Snowman and Santa’s North Pole workshop on one hand or a hot tub time share just out of Puerto Vallarta on the other. There are many factors to consider. Take road conditions, for instance. A nice six-inch cushion of snow piled upon your gravel or blacktop thoroughfare might look pretty, but the aesthetics will dwindle somewhat if you are forced to observe it from deep in the ditch where your Hyundai has settled after sliding helplessly off the shoulder of the road. This common winter event is even more embarrassing if you are seen fishtailing out of control in a vehicle equipped with bald summer tires and regular two-wheel drive. It’s even worse if you are watching the whiteness from a position seated upside-down in your ride.
On the other hand, if snow is your thing, what could be more delightful than tobogganing down the centre of the road after a fresh dump of the white stuff? What makes it even more fun is watching all the ill-prepared traffic trying to avoid your newly groomed sled track (as well as your extremely vulnerable body) by shimmying their way off into the roadside ditches.
Besides playing games with traffic, there are so many other activities that lend themselves to having fun in the snow. You can snowboard, ski downhill or cross-country, and snowshoe. If you have the technology, you can fire up your snowmobile or hitch up your sleigh to your faithful team of sled dogs (or your kids if you can coax them out of the house).
Nobody asked me, but I’m willing to put up with the inconvenience of going without hydro and running water for days on end if I can trade in those amenities for the privilege of living in a white wonderland that looks incredibly like a picture postcard. I can handle occasional blizzard-force winds knocking Douglas fir trees about until they come crashing down on the power lines, if I’m allowed to throw on my toque and snow mitts in order to indulge in a neighbourhood snowball fight.
I don’t much mind following behind an Amazon delivery van whose driver did not bother to sweep all the snow off their roof so that it feels like I am now driving through my own private blizzard. No, I will put up with that if I can occasionally pull over beside Stowel Lake to watch the kids shovel the snow off a section of the frozen ice and play an endless game of “free-for-all shinny” near the shore. I will even donate my extra well-worn pair of gumboots to be used as goal posts for one of the imaginary nets.
And if it turns out that we get hit by a “snow storm of the century” that stops all life and motion, and even Netflix grinds to a halt, then I guess you can lay the blame on me.
But for right now: Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.