Tuesday, December 17, 2013


Some things are so beautiful they make you do things you thought you would never do. I am not talking about a beautiful woman, but snow. I am back.

When I was a teen I raced snowmobiles. Hard to believe for those of you who only know this version of me. But it is true. I drag raced Sno Jet snowmobiles mostly in the summer, and took first place everytime. Well almost every time. Once I got second place. I blame that on my Dad because he was the one that souped up the machines, against all rules and regulations. Back in those days they made the women race in the "powder puff" race. Oh Pa-lease! I think they did that because secretly they knew the women would blow them out of the water, or off the grass as the case may be.

What I liked best about snowmobiles was the suit. I had a black suit with yellow stripes down the sleaves and legs. It was hot. A black fur collar. A black fur helmet cover. It was so 70's. I had patches all over my suit, too. Sayings like "Don't eat yellow snow", things like that.  My suit kept me very warm and I wore it for all outdoor activities.

One winter day I had on my black snowmobile suit with the yellow stripes and trudged through the deep snow in the field behind my house to my "fort". My getaway. My safe harbor.  That day there were snowflakes the size of golf balls, you know the kind.  I found a nice spot and stretched out in the snow, my black snowmobile suit with the yellow stripes keeping my warm and dry. I stared up into the sky in amazement as I watched the giant snowflakes fall millions of miles down from the sky. They kept coming and coming and coming...I imagined them looking down at me, a big black blob in the snow. Slowly they fell. A soft landing on my eyelash. A moist landing on my tongue. A crash landing on my patch that warned about yellow snow. It was one of the most magical moments of my life.

Snow is powerful. It can stop everything. It can force us to stay home with our loved ones. It can close schools. It keeps most of the bad guys off the streets and helps me feel safe at night. It records the stories of the animals as they play out their life and death struggles under the stars. It can sparkle brighter than a diamond. It can light the entire night with just a sliver of moonlight to reflect off its drifts and ridges. It can hold shadows. It give the mice tunnels and the fox challenges. It allows us the joy of sledding and skiing and snowshoeing. And the pain of shoveling. It is one of the most mysterious, magical gifts of Mother Earth.

And for that I give thanks.