What is it about snow that brings out the child in us? I went to bed last Wednesday night full of excitement, keeping fingers and toes tightly crossed that the few flakes of snow that had begun to fall would carry on in earnest through the night. I knew my prayers had been answered, when I awoke the following morning to that familiar white light winding its way in through the chink in the curtains. My heart soared as I peered out and saw the thick blanket of white across the garden to the hills and fields beyond. Snow has the ability to completely transform the landscape creating a unique stillness, a sense of magic. A real life Narnia right outside my front door.
It even managed to weave its magic into the chaos and high stress of the school run. A time that usually leaves me a frazzled mess and shrieking like a fishwife, became a time of chocolate box sentimentality and wonder. Watching the joy on my children’s faces as they marvelled at the satisfying crunch under every footstep. My youngest, who at just 15 months is prone to regular face planting following by screaming, was completely mesmerised when the inevitable tumble came. Staring at the glistening white crystals stuck to his gloves, like a new born who’d never seen his hands before. My eldest was shovelling handfuls of it into his mouth, down his sister’s back, into my handbag…. But somehow no-one seemed to mind. We laughed, we chased each other, we were seriously late for school.
By the time the weekend rolled around the white stuff was starting to loose it’s magic for the kids. The ski resort-esque beauty of a Saturday morning sledging session with our neighbours, was tarnished somewhat by the hysterical meltdown of our uber competitive eldest son. Unable to sit still and just enjoy the ride, he couldn’t resist attempting to steer which resulted in him being repeatedly ejected face first into the freezing white powder. This was then followed by endless moaning about cold feet, wet socks, wet gloves, cold noses. Usually this would be enough to make us call it a day but after a quick pit stop for lunch, my husband declared that perhaps we should ‘ramp it up a bit’ – ‘the kids will love it’ he said. Who was he kidding? This had nothing to do with the kids. I could see the excitement in his eyes.
So off we set to the ‘big’ hill outside our house. Here you have the added adrenaline kick of having to negotiate your way across the driveway and through a narrow gate where, if you get the trajectory right, you can hurtle down into the woods beyond. The kids weren’t convinced but the parents could barely contain themselves. We each grabbed a child and dragged them to the top of the hill where we managed to wedge our bottoms, fresh from Christmas indulgence, into a motley crew of sledges – most of which had barely seen the light of day since about 1985. As we tore down the hill, screaming in unison, the feeling was sheer joy.
I later watched my husband hurtling down headfirst on his tummy. He looked like a teenager. With three children under five, it can often feel like a challenge just to make it through each day. This was pure escapism and as close to a black run as he’s going to get for at least a few more years and so boy did he make the most of it. He didn’t even seem phased when a rogue spike of barbed wire ripped his hat clean off his head as he sped through the gate. ‘Did you see that?’ he yelled as he bounded back up the hill, ‘look how close I took that line!’. He later declared that he had felt like a child again. The thrill of the speed, the joy of the snow and the warmth of friends.
Snow can transport us back to the best moments of our childhood in a way that no other weather system can. Nostalgic memories of snowball fights, snowman building, hot chocolate drinking and hurtling down hills clinging tight to your mum or dad. It has an ability to wipe years off us. Like the boy in ‘The Snowman’, my heart sank this morning when I saw it was gone and with it, a little piece of magic.
Postcards From My Kitchen Table 