Youthful Snow-filled Memories
As I drove from my home just outside
of the village of White, Pennsylvania to my sister’s home in Indian Head for
Christmas, I began to recall the many times I had driven it in the snow. The twisting
road called Poplar Run was always beautiful. The snow hanging heavy on the bare
branches of beech, oak, and maple, making lacey patterns that often glistened
in the sunlight and even in the headlights of the car. The most beautiful sight
of all was the young pines that had been planted on a steep slope. It was as
though they had horded much of the snow and wrapped themselves in a thick white
quilt. They are now old and sparsely needled, but then, they were in their
prime, full and heavily covered in their dark green needles. They would pop
into view as I would make the turn and suddenly, they were there, a feast for
the eyes. It was beauty almost beyond belief, the darkness of the needles
contrasting with the new-fallen snow.
It was a sight I always enjoyed,
even as a child, riding in the back seat of my parent’s car. My view was
sometimes hampered by my position in the backseat, but it was always enjoyable.
Other roads that my dad, Carl would drive on allowed different memories. I can
recall having to press my face against the car’s window and look upward to see
the sky over the top of the drifted and plowed snow.
My dad hated to be late. One morning
we tried three different roadways to get to church during a snow storm. The
roads were slippery and snow covered. When we pulled into the parking lot of
the white clapboard Clinton Church of God, they music was playing and the
congregation was singing a hymn. Dad told us to get back into the car and he
drove us all home. I’m sure that God wouldn’t have minded, but Dad was a
stickler for being punctual.
This year, snow has been scarce and
almost nonexistent, so to play in the snow, I must revel in my memories of snow
ball battles, sled riding, and the cold wintertime beauty that remain in my
mind.
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