Luka, the incorrigible cuddler curls up on my lap sleeping as I sit cross-legged on the day bed. Balancing the laptop to write is no easy feat, but it is worth it. The heat she gives off, and the peace of mind I feel in the company of dogs, helps calm my mind.
The sky seemed pink yesterday as the sun shone through a haze of lace. I smelled the approaching snow and felt a wave of childlike joy. It brought back a memory of jumping up and down with my mom on the side porch as large flakes began to fall. We were both too old to be jumping around — she in her 70s, and I in my 30s. Yet as the snow drifted down, we became kids again, both of us.
Snow seems to suspend the laws of thermodynamics, if only for a while: Material properties transform from rusty yard debris to clean whiteness; rules of order let go as school is canceled; even the laws of gravity relax as we slide weightlessly downhill. There is an immediacy to days with heavy snowfall. Keep the stove burning and be sure there are buckets of water put by in case the power goes out. Feed the birds and keep the dogs away from the slabs of snow melting off the roofs. Clear the driveway with the push shovel, as we have yet again neglected to contract with a plow guy. Take an Epsom salt tub bath if the power hasn’t gone out. Try to read a magazine in the tub without dropping it in the water. Fall exhausted, ruddy-cheeked and disheveled into a deep sleep, but only after drinking hot chocolate and eating grilled-cheese sandwiches.
I moved to Vermont 20 years ago from the Midwest. I loved the landscape here and the people. They seemed so smart and well-read and were friendly, despite the reputation of New Englanders. The winters were longer and the snowfall heavier. I noticed women my age often didn’t color their hair, nor did they seem to wear a lot of makeup. They skied and gardened and climbed mountains and had strong, fit bodies. The men wore beards and had canoes on top of their cars. People in their 90s brought in firewood and shoveled the sidewalk and gardened and canned. There were so many carpenters. My neighbor had a 30-year-old cow he kept as a pet. She had long curved horns like a Brahman and hip bones that stood out. She would lick your shoes.
So, when the blizzard came, 24 inches of light, fluffy snow, I shoveled for most of the day, filled the wood stove, fed the birds, checked the water supply, then took the dogs for a ski down the middle of the barely plowed Justin Morrill Memorial Highway.
Almost as old as my mom was when we jumped together for the joy of snow, I thought when I got home that I was, in fact, a true Vermonter.
Micki Colbeck, of Strafford, is an artist, a conservation biologist and a member of the Strafford Conservation Commission. Write to her at mjcolbeck@gmail.com.