snow

Snow in the Willamette Valley causes quite a stir. I have to confess I was right there with the rest of the Valley, giddy with excitement and awe over the scant inch of snow dusting the landscape out my window.  There's something about snow during the holiday season (which is in full swing now) that is so satisfying and right. There always ought to be snow at Christmas time. The fields here my still be green and not need the beautifying white snow to blanket it, there may be buds on the trees and crocuses cautiously poking their way out of the frozen ground, but to see snow is still enough to send us all into flurries of festivity.

The college boys got even more snow and as proudly as if they'd manufactured the weather themselves, told us it was "too snowy and dangerous to come home for the weekend, so if we wanted to see them, we have to come down there." With promises of inches and inches of snow we made the trek on Saturday. It was a gorgeous drive; limbs mounded with snow, the sun glinting off the blinding whiteness, geese by the hundreds winging their way across the icy blue, then orange and pink sky as the sun set.

We walked around the campus by the light of the old-fashioned lampposts, a velvety night sky overhead, cupping steaming cups of coffee and hot chocolate. It was so festive (Mom, that's for you). Between San Diego and a lack of snow last Christmas in Illinois, I think it's been years since I walked in snow deep enough that it made that lovely squeaking noise. I forgot how the cold stings your lungs when you breathe and how nice it feels to thaw out in front of a fire. How easily we forget the blistering heat of summer!

It put me in a real Christmas mood, and then we could drive back up to Silverton where the snow had mysteriously disappeared (I say mysteriously because it hasn't gotten above freezing for days) and have the convenience of a clear driveway.