1-26-2023 4:20am

Musing About: Snow

Lesley Misko Editor

At midday the promised flakes of snow began to fly and with increasing persistence they landed on the grass and sidewalks, quickly covering everything in a white blanket.

I've experienced snow in different ways throughout my life. Maybe you have too. As a child in the city, I felt the magnificent power of a snowstorm bringing a city to a halt and painting its harsh lines with softness. Later as an adult living in this area, I experienced the magnificent beauty of the morning sun sparkling over a fresh white crust atop the fields.

But regardless of where or when, and however beautiful it might be, snow always caused me to worry.

When I was a child, I worried about my parents getting to and from work since they both worked in places that did not have snow days.

As a 20-something, I worried about getting the dog walked and getting myself to and from work at Boyertown Area Senior High (BASH). For a while I lived on a narrow street in Reading. When the snow finally stopped, I struggled for hours to dig the car out and then carried endless buckets of water boiled on the stove, outside, where I poured it all around the car so that I would hopefully be able to escape my parking spot to drive to work in the morning.

In the morning, after pulling the car out, I carefully placed a folding chair in the space I had cleared and when I returned at the end of the workday to discover someone had violated this unwritten urban code that if -you- clear- it,- it's- yours, I immediately burst into tears!

But then something happened.

I got married in December and a few weeks later, school shut down early in the day because a snowstorm roared in and quickly covered the roads. My husband, who also taught at BASH, walked to the doorway with me and told me to wait there. Before I could object, he walked off into the storm, pulling the collar of his black and white tweed coat up as he went, and turning his head to the side to avoid being hit in the face by the snow. I could see him in the distance, brushing the snow off the car, and moments later, he drove up to the doorway where I waited. It was the first time in my life I can remember feeling protected and cherished.

Several years ago, now retired and decades older and decades into our marriage, I felt that way once again, as I looked out an upstairs window during a winter storm. Against the whiteness that had colored everything the same, he stood out in the distance in his favorite red parka, hood up, as he slowly pushed the snowblower along to clear a path. As in the past, all those years ago, seeing him brave the slippery cold so I could stay in the warmth indoors, brought back those feelings of being protected and cherished.

As I looked out the upstairs window yesterday, my eyes searched for that red parka, and I wished that I could tell him once again, how special and secure he made me feel.