My childhood memories of winter are of us kids running home after school so we could go ice skating on the frozen stream, wearing warm sweaters, wool mittens and hats and only going home for dinner when our moms would come and call us. I remember the frozen grass and snow down next to the water close to home, us kids bringing our father’s old newspapers to sit on, so our bums would not freeze while we changed from shoes to ice skates. I remember sore ankles, red cheeks and an appetite that would make a grown man laugh.
When my love and I moved south west, which is not that far in the real world but meant moving to the other side of our country here in NL, we no longer had those white snowy icy winters due to the sea climate and now, these days, we are glad when there is enough frost that breaks open the clay soil and prepares land for spring.
But, we knew of lands that still had snow, tons of the stuff, so we thought best to go there, kiss one of our dearies and play in the snow with her, that soft powdery stuff that does not let you make snowballs, that does not cling to your clothes but is made up of cold, deeply cold individual crystals and is fluffy and gorgeous. And we talked and hid underneath the trees, feeling their warm presence, peed soft yellow deep holes when we needed to and were silent, breathing out white clouds of air, leaving tiny droplets on our scarves.
It is like in fairy tales really, real life fairy tales, this being alive.
The granddaughters. 