Snow! The very word elicits different responses around the room. A young man's eyes light up as he envisions the rush of careening down the mountainside, a board strapped to his feet. The middle aged man, with tobacco stained teeth, shudders remembering the feeling of eighteen wheels sliding out of control. A young mother's brow creases with anxiety. She's promised to take the kids across town.
The divergent reactions to this simple little word amaze me. Just yesterday an email from Texas said, "After living in Kansas for several years, I had my fill of snow." I don't get it. I love snow.
Did you know snow only appears white. It is, in fact, clear. However, sunlight travels from air to ice. Then, after moving around in the snow for a while, some of the light scatters back out. This is what we see. And, since our brain is tuned to determine when something is white, it can take yellow sunlight which has bounced around in clear ice crystals, and turn it into white snow. How's that for amazing?
Were you aware ten inches of snow can contain as little as .04 inches of water and as much as 4 inches of water? Water content is determined by crystal structure, wind speed, temperature, and other factors. Most of the snow which falls in the US contains a water ratio between .04 and .10.
Of course most of us know snow is a good insulator. Fresh, uncompacted snow is typically 90 - 95 percent trapped air. Since the coldest air is in the top 12 - 18 inches, the air below this level is typically warmer, the warmest air being closest to the ground. However, had you heard a thick layer of new snow readily absorbs sound waves? But, if the surface of the snow has been hardened by wind and aging, it can actually reflect sound waves, causing them to travel further than normal.
Granted, snow flakes are made of ice. And, ice can mean danger. But really, who can keep from liking something with such varied names as: ‘champagne powder', ‘corduroy', and ‘mashed potatoes.'
Rain listlessly streams to an ungraceful landing, but snow has a life of its own. Wet snow, like fluffy cotton balls, glides to its resting place. But dry snow plays, flitting, floating, and dancing until forced to stop. Then, joyfully stirring again in the next gust of wind.
Like most things in life, it boils down to pleasure. I enjoy playing in the stuff. In fact, I like looking at it. It's white. It's clean. It's winter moisture you can play in! What more could anyone want? Some of my favorite winter memories include: A winter white mask covering my Leonberger's black, brown, and gold face. A soft breeze on a sunny day carrying laughter from the snow ball fight across the yard. A little face, looking up from tasting winter's delight, ringed in a halo of white. Giant snow caves and snow men of every shape and size inhabiting the yard.
For some it's the thrill of racing across a snow and ice covered lake at breath taking speeds - just for the rush of adrenalin. Others crave the thrill of excitement they experience as they roar up a hill, just to dive down again. I've seen others whisking through the snow behind a dog team. I suspect they're enjoying the trip, almost as much as their canine companions.
For me, pure enjoyment abounds when the whish, whish of my cross country skies accompanies the plump, plump of my poles. In fresh powder ranging from ankle to knee deep or on a trail, groomed by the wooden pallet pulled behind my husband's snowmobile, I venture out. The wind's soft shushing in the tree tops, the sharp tick, tick of snow on my hood: my companions. My music: the thump thump of grouse wings accompanied by the yipping chorus of coyotes just down the draw. This, my friend, is life!
The sixteen mile ride to my pickup is a weekly treat. Think about it. I'm zooming down a snowy trail, wind (albeit cold) in my face. And, the wildlife. Wow! Some days even the worst weather is worth braving just for the chance to ‘see'.
Take the moose who, startled by my approach, jumped out of the ditch like a wraith draped in white. Astonished we stared at each other. I'm not sure what he thought of me, but I thought he looked silly - a bit like Bullwinkle sprinkled with powdered sugar.
Or the coyote from a few days back. Forced to leave the road so I could pass, he ran a short distance into the field, stopped and looked back. When I paused to enjoy the close-up view, he told me in no uncertain terms exactly how he felt. Rubbing his hind feet in the manner of a dog, he looked me straight in the eye, then lifted his nose in derision. What a hoot!
In addition, snow is a feast for the eyes. Vanilla Frosting over chocolate mud pies is just the start. After all, who can gaze on a diamond studded snow field without a sense of awe? What spavined eye does not delight at the sight of an evergreen tree turned from haughty stoic to graceful, white robed lady stooping to listen to the world at her feet? Even the most hard-hearted must pause at the sight of a jack fence, decorated for the winter holiday in snowy white garlands. Can anyone help but laugh at the stumps with their silver grey beufont hair-do's, and the rocks in their coked beany caps? Has everyone failed to wonder at the crooked white fence posts aping their wooden counterparts?
Sometimes I suspect it is our eyes. Oh, I understand the fear of walking on ice. I regularly experience the not so pleasant, and often dangerous, treks down the highway from here to wherever ‘there' might be. I'm not immune to the work of shoveling a path to the shop (or in my case the generator shed). However, work and dangers aside, I suspect, in my eyes, snow will always be the most beautiful form of moisture.
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