Everybody has a favorite season, a particular time of the year when they just shine. They spend the other three-quarters of the year pleading for that favorite season to come around again. Spring is beautiful to me. It brings dogwoods in bloom, my anniversary, and the start of flower and vegetable gardening, both of which I love. Summer means roof-top poolside with a book and endless opportunities to travel. Fall used to be my favorite season because of sweaters, warm drinks, crisp air, and football, but it's just too sad for me now, no matter how much I try to indulge (and overindulge) in my favorite things. I like little things about each season, but I've always had a love affair with winter.
Winter and snow, to me, are romantic and fascinating. I love bundling up in my warmest clothes under blankets, feeling so cozy and safe while the wind make the snow swirl on the ground and in the air. There's always that shock factor of just how cold it is when you walk out the door; if you're feeling groggy, you immediately wake up when you step outside. Boots always made me feel bigger and tougher, stomping through snow and slush puddles. After a big snow and the sun peeks out, I love the almost-unbearable brightness and how everything just sparkles. Snow is pure and clean and makes the rest of the grit-covered world beautiful once again.
Winter brings intense, snowy weather events. I remember the ice storm of the late 80s in the Fayettenam, when we lost power for days and my dad cooked my favorite soup in a pot on top of our wood burner in the basement. I remember the Pittsburgh snowstorms of the early 90s. I remember the snow was so deep that PennDOT trucks couldn't get through, and instead heavy machinery had to clear our roads. I remember the snow drifts being about 13-feet high. I also remember the snow drifts being so deep I could walk on top of them and not fall through. I remember sledding and tubing in my backyard (with a perfect hill for sledding) with my parents and laughing hysterically when they would flip out and fly through the air. I remember making huge batches of hot chocolate and being allowed to let the cats inside because it was too cold for them to be out.
Winter and snow means winter sports. Once I learned to ski in 1996, winter quickly became better than any other season ever could. I love skiing so much (I'm sure Mom & Dad were glad, too, after shelling out $$$ on all new equipment before I even hit the slopes) and I'm thrilled it's something the Best Husband Ever and I enjoy doing together, even if he's much faster than I am. I love the cold, the sound my skis make while making sharp turns, the thrill of mastering a tough slope, not falling often but laughing hysterically when I do, and rushing to get in just one more run before closing. I don't participate in many sports, but skiing is something I could do all the time, if only it was winter all the time.
Finally, winter and snow means being snowed in and not going to school or work. When I was a kid, the joke was always "Welcome to Pennsylvania: Two hour delay, no morning kindergarten." In college, I think classes were cancelled once, maybe? I do remember being stuck at a Hampton Inn after a weekend away. I love being snowed in, but not by myself in a hotel off the interstate for two days. I racked up an astronomical cell phone bill and I've never watched so much CNN in my life. But being snowed in as an adult is rather enjoyable. There is plenty of time to read, snuggle, and walk around the city to find an open (and warm) restaurant. There is time to throw the very indoor cat in the snow just to see what she does (answer: FREAK OUT). There is time to shovel driveways and make soup and nap. Snow days are lazy and rejuvenating, and everyone needs one once in a while.
So you can keep your heat, your spring showers, and your colorful leaves. I only want winter and that cozy feeling I get when I see those big, beautiful flakes fall.
