Yesterday, as I watched glimmering flakes of snow slowy cover our deck with a thin white blanket, childhood memories of playing in the snow filled my heart with joy.
As the snow fell, I was reminded that in earlier adult years, I dove deep into my psyche recapturing happy childhood memories, like those of watching snowflakes dance in the frigid air; I remember how I was mesmerized, staring into the horizon’s whitenesss, charmed by my belief that each flake was putting on a show just for me, showing off its uniqueness as it danced before my eyes.
In the winter of 1953, I was entranced by my gorgeous older sister Helen’s dark green eyes, widening into what looked to me like pie-plate-sized green lights, as she grabbed my hand, pulling me out of the bed she and I had recently begun sharing.
“Look, look,” she said, as she gently led me to the bedroom’s picture window, where, a few weeks earlier, our Christmas tree had stood tall, carrying the forest’s magic into an otherwise depressive home.
“Hey, silly, open your eyes, look isn’t the snow beautiful!” she said as she lifted me into her arms; I placed my tiny nose on a feathered frost pattern that had glazed the window, certain that this beauty must have been created by some kind of magic. I was six then and Helen was fourteen; she was my champion and protector.
That morning, after breakfast, I rushed down the basement stairs with my two brothers, one younger by a year, the other older by two and half years; we quickly donned our heavy woolen jackets and bibbed pants, woolen multi-colored mittens my mother had knitted, pulled our heavy rubber boots over heavy woolen socks, and were headed outdoors through the basement door, when my mother yelled down the stairs,
“Don’t eat the snow!
It’s dirty and it will make you sick!”
Emerging from the dark basement, the snow a translucent white, was sparkling as I made a snowball that looked like a large round white popsicle.
I ate two large snowballs!
And, I enjoyed every lick and bite!
We were innocent of the destructiveness of the paper mills’ toxins being dumped into the air, water, and land. No one understood then, that the air we breathed while sledding and throwing snow balls that we sometimes ate, were filled with dioxins, highly dangerous substances, that the town’s paper mill discharged through its smoke stack.
Today, as a more informed woman, I find myself repeating my mother’s warnings to children (and a few adults…) in my life
Don’t eat the Snow!
But please, let’s do enjoy the wintery outdoors, the snow, the scent of fir trees, the sight of rabbit tracks, and the joy that fills our hearts when we return with rosey cheeks, place our noses on frosty windows, and warm our hearts as we gather around the hearth.
In this moment, remember, that despite climate change born from human destruction and inaction, as well as wars, political unrest and more…
it remains paramount that we allow our feelings of JOY to fill all the spaces in our bodies, hearts, and souls, while we embrace the BEAUTY of the pristine Snow and all of the Earth’s bounty!
SHINE YOUR LIGHT
Remember that…
You and all Beings of the Earth
.. and beyond, are Divine!
Joyfully yours, Dory
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Thank you for reminding us of the importance of JOY even--especially!--in the midst of the world's tragedies. I, too, have fond memories of childhood snow, and thankfully was removed (I think) from factory contamination. Which doesn't mean the snow was always free of other substances. Often what gathered in the forest contained little bites of twig, moss, decaying leaves--adding piquancy!
My first thought was that this story would be about the parental warning "Don't eat any yellow snow!" But any regrets about possibly having eaten contaminated snowballs were offset by the nostalgic childhood memories of being mesmerized by the twinkling snowflakes swirling around in the globe of light from the street lamps, leafy Jack Frost pictures on the INSIDE of my bedroom window, making snow angels with my sisters...and I could even smell the wet woolen mittens and snowpants.