My first glance out the window this morning revealed silently falling snow. The colors of the landscape were muted, with the sheen of white dominating everywhere. The pines, green yesterday, were fringed in white, the greyness of the sky turning the green to black. The world now looks black, white, and shades of grey. A closer inspection reveals the browns and tans of nearby bare tree trunks and branches. A spot of color pops up here or there: the bright green of the [vertical] door into our shed, the red spot on the black and white woodpecker feeding on one of the suet blocks my husband has set out among the trees. I can see the shape of a building out back on our neighbour’s property, one that is hidden much of the year by foliage. Behind our house, the land is covered with a mixture of deciduous and evergreen trees and bushes through which we can see much further in winter. The snow alternates, falling gently part of the time, angling at other times, whipped by the wind. I can remember times when the snow has fallen horizontally, when the view was totally obliterated by the wild snowfall and driving was a menace. But today, it’s steady, gentle.
When I was a young child, in Indiana, snow was a comparatively rare treat, even rarer in Oregon later in my life. During my decades in the tropics, I missed seeing snow entirely. There the lush greenery and wildly colorful birds and flowers present a different kind of beauty. Here, even the birds’ colors are muted in winter. The goldfinches lose their golden brilliance, becoming a rather drab brownish grey. Still, the birds bring visual delights: Juncos are adorable, little round birds, dark on top, white on the bottom, their yellow beaks providing another welcome spot of color. Chickadees, also distinctly marked in black, white, and grey, abound. The small, grey, tufted titmice look regal with their pointy crowns. All cluster on the tray outside our window, feeding on the seeds we routinely sprinkle there. Bluejays, bright but raucous, come to our feeder for peanuts. Occasionally a brilliant red cardinal will appear against the white background, the contrast delighting the eye. A little further away, three kinds of woodpeckers pop in for visits: downy, hairy, and red bellied. All are black and white, though the males have the aforementioned spots of red near or on their heads.
Yesterday we went out into the snow—shallower than it is today, but still hard to walk in—to cut our Christmas tree at a nearby tree farm. We trudged through the snow, muscles straining to push heavy, booted feet through the resisting snow. It was like walking in sand. But the sun was shining and the sky was a pure blue. Sunbeams sparkled off the snow, blinding in their intensity, but intensely beautiful too. Clouds would hide the sun for moments, then reveal again the sparkles on the ground. The sunbeams shooting through the evergreens made yet another kind of stunning and ever-changing beauty. On that day, we could still see the green of the branches; the snow was not as deep as it is today, the sky brighter.
I remember longing, in Indiana and also in Turkey, for a ‘white Christmas’, the Bing Crosby song reminding us of this hope every year. Here in upstate New York, white Christmases come almost every year; I get to realize this youthful longing regularly. The snow continues to fall.
Remembering Christmas always brings memories of my father, who was deeply in love with Christmas. He delighted in everything connected with the holiday: sharing presents, surprises, decorating the tree, putting up lights. He loved the idea that Christmas is a time for families to come together, to share a traditional meal. He even loved shopping for presents, wandering the brightly decorated malls and stores. Like me, he enjoyed looking out at the cold cold snow more than wandering around in it. My husband, who doesn’t even mind the cold, is bringing in the Christmas tree. He too appreciates Christmas.
Christmas also brings sad and disturbing memories; the human capacity to remember often fails to filter out the painful. I remember with pain the loss of that well loved father. I remember clashes among family members, clashes that rippled out to affect all assembled, and then continue to ripple on down through the years as each remembers the hurtful things said (sometimes even inadvertently), the pains that loved ones experienced. Our human connections bring us both joy and pain.
The snow can also be a pain. I think of the unsightly muddy mush that can cover boots, sometimes slushed up against our clothing by passing vehicles; the icy sidewalks on which particularly the elderly fall, breaking bones; the salted roads that eat away at our vehicles; or the drudgery of having to shovel snow to get to work. These are the less happy elements of snow.
But now, the sun is coming out, revealing some of the previously muted colors. I can see the yellow of the willow tree out back, and the evergreens look greener than they did only an hour or so ago. The green trim on doors and window sills looks greener than it did, the snow more brilliant. The landscape’s pristine beauty overwhelms, soothing recurrent pains. What beauties—and what different beauties— surround us!