We are having a real, true winter season in the Virginia mountains this year. I am not a native of these parts and the seasonal cycles have never become intuitive for me here as they were up north. Although we have been here for nineteen years, I still can't get a grasp on the seasons and know them. Each season blurs into the next and they are hard to define. Maybe that's how they roll in these parts, I just don't know. Many of the winters here have been mild and we have gone a few years without a significant snowfall or a frigid spell. Not so this year and I like it.
Even though winter is still going strong outside, I decided it was time to take winter down from inside and box it up. As I gathered things together on the kitchen table, I noticed how pretty the trees were all by themselves. They looked like a little forest.Wouldn't a little frozen pond be pretty in there?
In the afternoon, Steve and I bundled up and took a walk. The cold air was invigorating. As my cheeks began to chill and I breathed in the cold air, I took in the setting winter sunlight and it reminded me of childhood. Back then, we would squeeze every possible minute of outdoor play into a short winter day. Winter offered so many activities in the north, especially if it was a good, snowy, cold one. We went sledding, we built snow forts, and we ice skated on ponds and streams from December though March.
I remember how we layered up in whatever odd bits and pieces of clothing we could rummage together in order to keep warm enough. Oftentimes we donned a pair of cotton tights as a base layer, two pairs of socks over that. Then we added stretch pants and winter snow pants over all. On top, we would wear an undershirt, a T-shirt, a sweater and then a jacket. Our necks would be bound in a scarf and a wool hat pulled on top of our head and over our ears. We wore gloves with a pair of mittens over them on our hands. Those were the days before nifty waterproof and insulated fabrics were common place. I didn't know anyone who had a down jacket or water repellent pants. Our boots were rubber and that was it. We were lucky if they kept the wet out. All of our clothing was cotton or wool and it got soaked and heavy in wet snow. All of us kids looked like ragamuffins in the snow, but, boy did we have fun!
As Steve and I walked today, I recalled a similar walk home in setting sun just like this. A bunch of us had been skating all day on a frozen stream down on Mannix Road and it was a long, two mile walk home. With skates slung over our shoulders, we made the trek home. My toes were so cold and frozen that every step of that two miles was painful. When we finally reached our back porch, where we shed our boots, and then stepped into the warm kitchen, it was a welcome relief. We were not done with the pain in our fingers and toes, but the house was cozy and it smelled like a good dinner was close at hand. After shedding our layers of clothes, we ran our fingers under slightly warm water in the bathroom sink to get the feeling back. Oh, how that hurt as our fingers began to tingle and the circulation started to come back! Then, I would lie on the living room floor with my feet propped up on the radiator while my toes thawed and throbbed in pain. It hurt too much to rub them and there was nothing to do but wait until they thawed out in their own good time. As I lie there thawing and complaining, I knew I would be back out there tomorrow and for as many days as the weather held out. We had to grab these days of frozen ponds while they lasted. Before we knew it, we'd be scooping up tadpoles from this very same water come spring.
I still dream of flying over expanses of ice on my skates. There is no freer feeling in the world. The beauty of the woods, our voices echoing from the trees, were all evoked for me on this day of table top forests and chill air at sunset.
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| Skating on Crooked Lake, NY during the annual winter carnival with my younger sister in the late 60's. |
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| On our road, in front of my aunt's house with my younger sister in the early 60's. |
This snow has hung around a long time, waiting for more, as my grandmother used to say. Virginia winters when I was growing up were seldom good for ice skating. Only once do I recall it being safe enough to skate on the pond at Camp Fincastle (what is now The Preserve at Crooked Creek). Winters here have changed, as have all of the seasons, from what I remember as a child. I don't remember so much wind, for one thing. It was nice to see a comment from you on my blog today. I hope you are well. Happy New Year.
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