A history of snow

Posted by admin on Dec 3, 2008 in From the Editor | 2 comments

I remember the first time it snowed in my hometown. I even remember what I was wearing (green horizontal-striped tee, ponytail) – that’s how epic it was. I was 14, halfway through grade nine, and so excited I danced in the living room as the wet, formless snow fell onto my family’s California lawn. My dad even videotaped that day because snow, well, that was really something.

Our first bout of snow in Sacramento didn’t even stay for four hours; in fact, the sun came out that afternoon and I still had to run the mile in PE class. Regardless, that day sticks in my family’s mind much better than the snow to our town.

Until that day, snow to us was a day trip, a once-a-year experience. This required hours rummaging through the mismatched snow gear, stuffed at the top of the linen closet. We’d dig until we found matching bright yellow gloves and prayed there were still enough snow pants that fit everyone in the family. We’d then drive a couple hours until we reached our final destination: snow.

We’d sled, throw snowballs and build the makeshift snowmen of amateurs until it was time to drive home and the event of snow was over.

During the holiday season, my family would dream of waking up Christmas morning like Ralphie in A Christmas Story, seeing the world cloaked in pristine snowfall. But the best we got was fog or rain, or if we were lucky, frost, the most snow-like substance we knew. There was even one Christmas we spent in Los Angeles when it was 29 degrees Celsius and we played kickball in the park in our shorts. We were sure that if we had snow, it would always be wonderful.

When I moved to British Columbia, the first snow was literal magic. I turned off all the lights in my South Fraser dorm room, called every Californian I knew, and gushed about how wonderful the sight of snowfall was outside my window, where I could walk outside my door and experience it as a part of my everyday life.

Then of course, as it happens, the sublime event of snow eventually became an exercise in monotony as I experienced three years of Januarys and Februarys. The magic of the first snow and the hope of a white Christmas was tempered by concepts like “rain/snow mix” and jeans ruined by salt deposits.

There was one day last year I walked onto campus when a day of heavy snowfall was followed by a day of rain, and campus had an end-of-the-world look of utter devastation. More often than not, snow has become a symbol of drudgery standing in the way of me and the sunshine my pale skin and California soul so desperately need.

I miss the sacredness snow used to hold in my life, when it was an event to celebrate and dance about; when I could just drive away once I was too cold or too wet to enjoy it anymore.

Luckily, snow still redeems itself every once in a while. I’ll never forget when on a living nativity tour during the Spirit of Christmas, the snow began to fall as the angel announced the birth of Christ. And I’m sure when I one day experience my first white Christmas, it will be more impressive than cinematic tricks.

It’s nice to realize the everyday can still be beautiful.