Let it Snow!

LET IT SNOW!

Maybe because of the holidays or the closing of yet another year, but around this time I become sentimental and nostalgic.  As I sort through all the garland, lights and ornaments prepping to deck my halls, my memory drifts back to all the warm, wonderful moments I’ve shared with friends and family.

As I hold out a snowflake ornament to hang on the evergreen tree, I remember one sweet winter memory I shared with Michael when we were first married.

I was born and (at that time) lived all of my life in hot, dry, sunny Southern California.  Even in December, I wore tee-shirts and walked around in bare feet.  Because of our arid climate, I never related to all the movies and stories about a snowy Christmas.  Many of the holiday songs of White Christmas, Let it Snow, Jingle Bells and others held only an academic interest.  There were a few times I took a day trip up into the mountains to experience a bit of snow, but most of the landscape held only spots of the frigid, slushy stuff.

Michael, however, grew up in the Pacific Northwest, and he was no stranger to true inclement weather.  We had only been married six months when it was decided to spend our first Christmas with his family up in Washington State.  We planned to make it a vacation road trip via our modern dogsled (okay, it was just our car).

I frowned in curiosity and fascination as I watched him buy and practice fitting tire chains.  He patiently tried to show me, explaining how they worked, but I couldn’t grasp the idea of “crunching and slipping through the ice and snow” on any road.  Personally, I was just thrilled to actually use my coat, gloves and scarf for the first time and wear boots for more than just a fashion statement.

So with tire chains and ice scraper (a strange looking back-scratcher) at the ready, we packed up the car with presents and mushed up the interstate highway hundreds of miles through rocks, hills and plains and mountain passes, on and on.

The weather held fine, until we hit Northern California.  Then it happened.  The clouds gathered and the temperature plummeted, just as we were heading up the Siskiyou Pass.  There were flashing road signs everywhere to “chain up” just as I began to notice the landscape growing whiter and whiter.  Finally Michael pulled the car over and began to fit the tire chains, not wanting to do it when the weather truly turned.

As I stood by watching him, something icy hit my nose.  I looked up and saw large, white flakes gently floating down from the sky for the very first time in my life!  I laughed and twirled and danced all around as it snowed more and more, covering me, covering everything!

Within minutes, the entire landscape was blanketed in snow.  One of the things I remember most was the almost reverent quietness all around the forested area because of it.  It made me stare with awed wonder to think that every one of these billion, microscopic flakes were exactly alike (white, six-sided crystals), yet unique in design.  Every one of them!

Unimaginable.

I remember Michael’s smile as he watched me experience snowfall for the first time.  We took a few minutes to build a snowman, have a snowball fight and make snow angels.  Then it was back out onto the now dicey highway.

Eventually the driving became too treacherous even for an experienced driver like him, so we pulled over to the nearest diner and had hot cocoa and pastry as we watched the snowflakes fall from the window.  I saw actual icicles hanging from their rafters too, another treat.  Growing up, my sisters and I always painted snow and icicles on our windows for the holidays, but I never knew why.  Now I saw everything we created, everything the songs and movies and stories gloried about firsthand, and it was magnificent.

A true Christmas miracle.  At least for me.

Since then, I visited the northwest many times in winter, eventually moving up here.  As a tradition, the first snowfall of the year Michael and I always trekked to the nearest diner and have hot cocoa and dessert like we did that very first December we were married.  It’s a tradition I continue to this day, remembering that remarkable memory—as precious and unique and wondrous as the six-sided crystal flakes that fall from the sky.

Let it snow!