Snow Days
Night surrendered to the dawn and I looked up from my work to see a few scattered white flake floating down--nothing serious. By noontime though, I heard a plow truck rumble past, its iron blade hard against the pavement, and I lifted my gaze again to behold the world through a slanted haze of white tracers. The flakes were bigger now, and aligned, and I watched for a moment as they drove down against the background of the telephone pole across the street. The contrast of the brown pole and the white flakes made the snowfall look even more intense, and I felt a wave of contentment, a deep appreciation for my small, warm room. Snow settled into the crooks of the oak treeon the corner, and the boughs of firs and pines bent beneath the weight of snow, and smoke rose from the chimneys of the clapboard homes along the smooth, white lane. All houses look like homes during a blizzard, I thought, and I poured the last of the morning's coffee into my mug.
My thoughts turned to boyhood, when snow still seemed nature’s greatest gift. I remembered how, on the eve of each major snowstorm, I would turn on the porch light and make my bed beside the sliding glass door, fighting sleep for hours just to glimpse those first few flakes floating out of the night. The next morning, I opened my eyes to see snow walled against the bottom of the glass. I kicked off my sleeping bag and scurried to my feet, slid open the door and leaned my face into the cold. I breathed the crisp, clean air deep into my lungs and looked out at the snow-covered lawn that sloped toward the lake. A bit of white powder tumbled inside and onto the tops of my bare feet. “Can I go out and play?” I asked, and then I negotiated postponement of breakfast, put on my snowsuit and heavy felt-lined boots, and headed for adventure.
My orange plastic sled in tow, I waded through the knee-deep snow to the top of the lawn. I pointed the sled downhill and sat inside it to break trail, pushing myself along a few inches at a time while keeping my arms stretched wide so as to not damage the smooth hardpack I was trying to build. The work proved grueling, for gravity offered little advantage against the deep powder and I struggled to plow through it. When I finally reached the bottom edge of the lawn, I stood and surveyed the steep embankment that descended to the frozen lake. The winds often swept the snow from this area, exposing the larger rocks ofthe riprap shoreline and making my sledding expeditions more than a little dangerous. Everything looked good, though, and I trudged back to the top of the hill.
I placed my sled in its newly-formed track and climbed aboard. Lying on my belly, I inched myself to the edge of the hill and gazed down the long, deep channel I'd made in the snow. I tucked the tow rope inside the sled and tugged my hat down over my ears. I imagined myself as a luge racer. An Olympian. A hero. I gave myself a push.
The world blurred as I gained speed, and I squinted hard against the cold and the powder that blew into my eyes. I heard only the wind in my ears and the long, continuous swish of my sled passing over the packed snow. The horizon tilted as I neared the row of apple trees where the ground slopes sideways. I fought hard to hang on, clutching the sled's handles and shifting my weight, and no sooner had the sled righted itself than the long, continuous swish was gone and the trail beneath me with it. I was flying now, plunging down the embankment toward the ice-covered lake. Sometimes I tumbled down that white bluff, but this time I had good luck, landing with all my momentum and coasting far from shore, all the way out to where the ledge slips beneath the ice.
The sled stopped and I turned to see how far I'd traveled. Happy with myself, I stood and took the sled rope in a mittened hand and started back to do it all again, and as I crested the embankment I looked toward the house and saw my father standing behind the glass. He opened the door and hollered down. “You look like Evil Knievel!”
“Did you see me?”
“I sure did.” he said, and I asked him to watch me again. He said that he would, and I tried to go faster and farther than ever before because I knew that he was there.
