I am a summer person. I make no bones about it. I am a fan of all fans and sprinklers and new mowed lawn smells. There isn’t one thing about summer that I am not all for. Even the hottest day lives happily within me. Even when I have to wash my windows after a dust storm mixed with a little rain has covered my windows with the muck of summer in June, I am still a fan of summer. Winter? Not so much.
I wholeheartedly love the beauty of winter. The fresh snow that sparkles like a dusting of diamonds in the late afternoon sun takes my breath away. The frozen eyelashes on a horse on an early morning when the pogonip is in full bloom is something to be seen for sure. I even think that the hurricane of snow that is thrown by the passing plows out in front of my house after a snowstorm is beautiful to watch. But! Yes, a freshly frozen “but.”
After about two or three doses of ibuprofen after shoveling a wind delivered drift on my back deck, winter loses its luster. I mean come on. Summer doesn’t make me want to move so far south with a snow shovel tied to the grill of my truck until someone at a gas station I stop at for some iced tea askes me, “What kinda shovel ya got there girly?”
No, summer doesn’t make me need to buy three levels of boots. A cute mid-calf high pair for a little snow on the sidewalk. A pair to wear if I get to go out to lunch. A second more aggressive but stylish knee-high pair to wear if I have to go to town to get the mail after a big snow dump. Then there’s the Armageddon pair of boots. My Sorels. The ones that are still knee high but have inner liners and rubber soles and foot covering parts with upper waterproof levels that tie in three places and cinch up at the knee to keep out snow, ice, and water after breaking four inches of ice on water troughs, with an axe. No summer doesn’t do all that.
Then again, I admit, snow does know me pretty well. When it rains, I can’t wait to go out in it and get my hair wet because it is so soft when it dries. In that same respect I can’t stay inside when it snows those huge softly falling snowflakes. The ones that seem to float ever so gracefully. I need to go out and see about catching some on my tongue and getting pictures of the magic. Snow also makes your hair so soft after it dries when you come in all wet and frozen. It’s the frozen part that I have to vote “no” on.
I was just asked recently if I would go snowboarding if I were to be invited. Without a doubt I said I would go. Then I gave it a bit more thought. Even though I jumped out of an airplane just a few short years ago when asked to go, the snowboarding thing has me wondering. Who is going to pick my slip sliding rear end up off the freshly fallen snow when, not IF but WHEN, I kathunk on the slopes. And just how long will I be in a boot when my ankle snaps? So yes, my heart will go snowboarding, but my body will be watching from the lodge. Drinking hot cocoa (wink-wink) and sitting by the huge stone fireplace. Yes, it is my daydream and there will be a huge stone fireplace. Hey, at least I said I would go without any hesitation! I get points for that right? Is there a sit and slide version of snowboarding? I would be all for that! I am after all, a girl of many boots.
Snow and I have a tenuous, avalanche-like, relationship. I want to go rushing outside to create snow angels and snowmen. Of course, I also want to climb the tree in my front yard to cut off a limb I broke off just halfway. Now it’s just hanging there by a strand of torn bark. It’s been swinging in the wind for about three years. Both of those things are probably still doable. Just things that I shouldn’t attempt without some assistance. The recovery of getting up out of the snow and not obliterating the angel or getting up off the ground when I fall out of the tree, well you can see the problem, I am sure.
Trina Machacek lives in Eureka. Her books are available wherever you buy books or email her at firstname.lastname@example.org to buy signed copies.