The Snow Culture

To empathize with my point of view it is important to know I hail from Iowa.  I am a lover of snow, cold and ice.  My fondest memories are intertwined with sledding hills and spontaneous laughter as the result of unfortunate run-ins with trees and fence posts.  Winter was cherished, snow was enamored, the chill of the air invigorating.

In my twenties I took a hiatus in Austin, Texas, drawn by a friend and a 80 degree temperature swing.  Heat and I were not good friends, but tolerated companions as I sought to enjoy the wonders of our southern state.  I returned to the mid-west and spent my winters in Kansas City.  Not nearly as frigid as my upbringing but yet a welcome wintery play land for my kids and I.

Yesterday I glimpsed the Twilight Zone reality of snow in our new home in Louisville, Co.  Snow is part of the culture here as much as the Yankees are part of New York.  The second the air developed a chill I saw the excitement mount as winter clothing, flannels, boots, striped leggings began to proliferate the dress of my new friends.  There was an anticipation that was physically present.  A yearning I hadn't expected.

I'm not stupid. I know the die hard skiers patiently endure summer as they wait for the frozen water to fall gracefully from the heavens. Yet I could not imagine the love most find for the safety and comfort of the white blanket.  I should have been more aware as I, in unbelieving wonder, watched the local news cover the opening of ski season with its limited runs, unending lift lines and focused enthusiasts.  It was no act of prophesy that these wonderful people were waiting frenetically as a three year old waits to blow out the candles on a birthday cake.

As we drove our children the mere 4 blocks to school I was amazed that the "walkers" were undaunted and undiminished.  The bike racks still full.  The families decked out in coats, snow pants and boots that have patiently endured a long respite.  The thick blanket, in October no less, was not scorned, but welcomed home as the prodigal son that had abandoned it's loving family.  Snowmen, dinosaurs and odd sculptures dotted the schoolyard landscape as evidence of  frozen artistic freedom.  Pink noses and red cheeks gleam with the wonder of a long lost canvas.

Today my children, dressed in new boots, hats and gloves, proclaimed that we must walk to school.  How quickly they have adapted to the atmosphere of life below 32 degrees.  They ran, danced and babbled about recess plans and the games to be played.  I transversed the icy sidewalk smiling, holding my daughter's hand and remembering that last winter snow was the enemy.  The evil force that imprisoned children inside during the school day as the swings hung lonely in the chilly air.  I walked home with my beautiful wife, in amazement of the life we had amidst the white covered trees.

There appear to be a few transplants that still view this spectacle with a trace of horror, but I am comforted by this white washed landscape.  My heart swells and is lightned as much as the first day I sat in my friend's kitchen and watched the crystalline flakes fall when I moved to Kansas City.  I am home here.  I am safe here. 

I would love to write more and share the warm feeling in my chest, but it is time to don my winter Chucky T's and enjoy the new air and revel in the sound of muted reality.  It is time to be immersed, covered and cultured.

The beginning often starts in the middle

Here I am in the middle of Colorado.  I'm now residing in the mid part of my life, reflecting on experience, learned history and the exploits of others.  I have no poignant truth or radically transforming statements. I only have a computer and time. 

I've met many people throughout my small travels here and fro.  I've shared space with huge, wonderful personalities and unique creations amongst the backdrops of various states and cities.  I shall begin here in the Boulder area while it is still fresh and new.  Then cautiously look back at those whose impact still bears a mark upon my soul and spirit.

This is more for me than you.  But, together we shall go.