There is no specific date when it happened, at least not that I can correctly list as the date that began my bumpy relationship with snowy conditions.
As a kid growing up in a small town with many opportunities for outdoor winter adventures, I don’t recall it ever being cold and disruptive to the warm blood flow to my fingers and toes.
The games of fox and goose, the best snow angels competitions, jam can curling, skating and playing our version of hockey on the outdoor rink, tobogganing down the school hill, snowball fights against the boys who wrapped snow around rocks — I don’t recall ever being cold enough to demand to be allowed to stay indoors and miss all the fun.
My recollections of winter being fun never ever include what the parents and other adults had to endure. Dad was in charge of making sure the vehicles started and the heaters worked to warm whichever vehicle was up to be used. Said vehicle was always toasty when passengers took their places. We never noticed dad’s red cheeks.
When it was extremely cold in Fahrenheit standards, he would bring the batteries indoors to rest on newspapers near the furnace grate. There was no way on earth that the school bus would be cancelled because he, as the driver, could not get it to start. There were no snow days on his route unless decreed by school division officials from the comfort of their warm offices in Moose Jaw.
I wasn’t impressed when Mom insisted that the newly-washed clothes had to be hung outdoors to freeze before being brought back indoors to thaw out and drip all over the newspapers laid down under the indoor clotheslines. Even a double pair of gloves did not provide enough protection for fingers on childish hands called on to do their part for family cleanliness. The arrival of an electric clothes dryer was a day of celebration.
But while I was balking against washday Mondays, I said not a word of complaint when my dog dragged my sled through the yard and toppled me over to roll down a snowbank in our yard.
Nor did I shy away from driving the family car through snow drifts on icy grid roads to take friends home after an after-school gathering. No cellphones and a few miles between farmsteads, but we made it and never ever considered what might have befallen us if we had gotten stuck.
And then it changed: not sure when nor why, but I’ve grown into the dislike for temperatures cold enough to take my breath away. I don’t enjoy driving on icy roads or into snowdrifts. The beauty of freshly fallen snow is only enjoyed from inside a warm house, with a mug of peppermint-flavoured chocolate milk. Six snowflakes puts me in a frenzy to make sure my long underwear still fits even though it gives me a rash every time I put it on.
The emergency suitcase is checked and rechecked and replenished just in case I get stranded on the street to the grocery store. I will scare off anyone who tries to highjack the stranded vehicle: bundled in my winter hat and scarf and housemate’s European-style fur hat will do the trick. That short-handled shovel swung at the appropriate time is a fall-back measure.
In addition to not being high-jacked, the food cached away will sustain us for several hours and there might be leftovers to offer kindly strangers who mean us no harm but want to lend a helping hand.
Shovelling snow is no longer a welcome form of exercise. It is a heart-attack or backache just waiting to happen and I happily share our shovels with our kindly neighbours who are johnny-on-the-spot to dig us out while we wave out the kitchen window.
Upon reflection I wonder if my vehicle could be coaxed to take on a grid road snow drift? I have winter tires, lots of extra clothes, candles and matches, flares and other emergency equipment. I have new snow boots, heavy parka with hood, new gloves, a full gas tank and a fully-charged cellphone.
But I just don’t have the heart, or courage anymore, for such youthful adventures. Dratted snow!
Joyce Walter can be reached at [email protected]
The views and opinions expressed in this article are those of the author, and do not necessarily reflect the position of this publication.
