Magic

Long since so much of the magic of youth has gone the way of adulthood, I'm still lucky enough to get random reminders.

Reading a recent blog entry about the first snow to our west, and a mom's pleasure of watching her two young 'uns bury themselves in the magic of that first seasonal snow, reminded me of my own anticipation and enjoyment of the first snows of the season, back when I was knee-high to...about anything. I grew up in snow country (South Dakota and Iowa), so anticipation never had too long to wait, even though time seemed to stand still in those days (and now seems to accelerate with each passing year).

There was a definitive magic in that first snow. Especially if it amounted to enough to make a snowman, throw snowballs, make a snowfort, or just grab the sled and zip merrily down whatever incline was readily available, until every last vestige of my outerwear was soaked and I was cold as an ice cube.

Of course, I had a lot to learn about snow: like when I began to get impatient for spring, because the heavy snows of winter were still hanging around, and I was getting impatient for the days when I didn't need multiple layers of clothes, and could be warm again. I once reckoned that because the sun was out, I could warm things up merely by shovelling off the snow from the yard.

A task beyond my ambition, and a futile gesture had I been that ambitious. But it was a nice thought. I had such simple thoughts then.

But by October, there'd be that anticipation once more. There was just something magical about that first snow.

I've learned much about snow since then, alot of it not all that magical. How it can (and frequently has) put a crip in my adult life with how disruptive and occasionally destructive it can be. My love of the outdoors in winter was long ago tempered by chronology, injuries and exposure to extremes during work (traffic control and rescue efforts during a blizzard in '79 that awarded me frostbite). And it's caused me some epic moments of being stranded at work (the Blizzards of 1982 and 2003), let alone having me wonder a couple times if I'd even get there at all (same referenced blizzards, and multiple getting stucks in the midst of almost nowhere, and having to dig out, hoping one could).

As a child, I saw it all so differently. Life and experience tends to change perspective. Especially when I slip and fall on my more than ample backside (then, it was called fun; now, it's called chiropractic visits in the wake of a call from the Seismic Institute in Golden, asking me "was that YOU again?"), and have to move more snow with a shovel than I ever even imagined was possible as a five year old.

Even still...one visit to a blog, written by a mom taken back in her own memories of that first seasonal snow while watching her two young ones revel in the magic of the moment...and I can remember the magic of that moment myself.

Fact is...the magic isn't entirely dead: even now, I still remember fondly, and still enjoy that first snow of the season, all these years later.

Even as I have to drive in it, dodging all the fair-weather yutzes. And even as I gear up to shovel the stuff, including a backbrace and a coat that weighs more than I did when I first found the magic of a first season snowfall.

Thanks, c jane enjoy it, for the reminder. May Stephanie be there to share the next round of magic, too.