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Two days ago, in Chicago, I saw a few specks of snow swirling through the air. When I type “a few” I mean it. On my thirty-minute-ish walk with my dog Mars, I saw maybe twenty-five flakes of snow hit the ground. Those that made it to the concrete melted immediately. It had been seventy-five degrees only two days before after all. The sidewalk was still warm. Not all the snow hit the ground, however. Some of the flakes came down on Mars. Those did not melt right away. They rested on his coat, resisting a change in their state of matter. Bright white spots against his black coat.
I wish I could say it was snowing outside as I sit here typing. There are few things cozier and more hygge (remember that?) than being inside and sitting under a blanket when it’s snowing outside. It is cold enough to snow, but the all-knowing meteorologists see no chance that we get any. I believe them. There is hardly a cloud in the sky, the clear blue signaling that we’ll have to wait another day. It is snowing in other parts of the United States, and most certainly the world, but not in Chicago, Illinois. Alas.
I have several vivid memories of snow. Most of them about storms. There was the massive snowstorm that hit Lancaster in 1995 (I think), the blizzard our family had to drive through to get to our grandparent’s house for Christmas, the snowstorm that precipitated a rare late-start day for my high school. But it’s not just the snowstorms that reside in my memory. I have other memories of snow. There was sledding by my grandparent’s house on black plastic trash bags, making snow forts on the sidewalk, walking with my fiancée through the snow on the way to an Italian restaurant, seeing my dog play in the snow for the first time, knocking down the giant icicles that had grown on the side of our house. I could wax rhapsodic about the snow for ten thousand more words.
So I will!
Well, not for ten thousand words, I have other stuff that I want to do today besides write about snow.
I tend to call things beautiful in this newsletter. Last week I talked about how Triceratops were beautiful. I’ve called paintings, tomatoes, mushrooms, and John Le Carré books beautiful. Heck, I think I’ve even called one of the stupidest Chance the Rapper songs of all time beautiful. Let’s add snow to that list.
Snow’s beauty comes from a couple of places. The obvious one is of course, the visual aspect of it. New snow, untouched by human or animal feet, smooth, white, and slightly sparkly is a delight for the corneas. Not just because of the visual element, though that certainly is a part of it, but because of the opportunity it represents. There are a thousand and one things you could do with an untouched field of snow. Build a snowman, have a snowball fight, make snow angels, write a poem about it. Etc etc. There is beauty in a blank canvas, just as much as there is in a completed one.
On top of its physical beauty, snow offers other things as well. One is silence. Since I live in a city silence is something of a rarity. Even in my home, it is rarely silent, the heat is running, or our dog is barking, or music is playing. This is not to say that I don’t like noise, I certainly do. I fall asleep to the sound of a crackling fire, or falling rain almost every night. There is something about the ability of a sufficiently thick layer of snow to muffle a city that is quite dramatic and beautiful, however. This isn’t one of those things that I make up on here from time to time either. Physics backs me up there. Snow absorbs sound, dampening sound waves. Cars sound quieter, the noises of the city, while not stopped, are stilled and muted. Played pianissimo. The sounds that do exist during a fresh snowfall, namely the laughter of children and adults playing in the snow, are all the more beautiful for their rarity. A fresh snowfall casts a spell, one not easily countered
It is this spell that captures the true beauty of snow. Unlike rain or sleet, it feels like it transforms a place. It both hides and accentuates features, bringing to light topographies that might have been hidden in broad daylight. This transformation can be dramatic or subtle depending on the environment, but it is always there. Shadows change, outlines become different, and your sense of geography can get thrown off. Truly amazing that just a small amount of frozen water can so dramatically shape the world.
The beauty of snow isn’t one that just sits there, unassuming. It can quite literally be a deadly beauty. Like how there is beauty in Black Widow spiders, poisonous mushrooms, or insect-eating plants, snow’s beauty lies on top of its deadly nature. Cold is a killer, and snow can only enhance that. Snow can encourage frostbite, trap people inside or outside their homes, cause car crashes, knock out power, make people get lost, start avalanches, and so much more. It is not a friendly or kind beauty. Just as snow can kill, however, it can help. Snow forts can provide much need warmth, a useful supply of water, and a soft-landing from heights. Snow can help keep food or drink cold and is even good at numbing wounds and keeping disease out. It all depends on the context.
The thing that must be mentioned amongst all this, before I end this rumination on various frozen water crystals, is the impermanent nature of snow. Snow, at least outside of various mountain tops, and the Arctic and Antarctic circles, melts. It turns into water and evaporates. Sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, but in the end, always. Oftentimes as it melts, dirt, dog pee, trash, and other bits of trash and much get mixed into the snow. It can melt and re-freeze turning into deadly black ice or get crunchy and gritty. Most people would call it ugly. I must concede that point on some level. It does look gross. But there is beauty in its impermanence. That we are able to witness both the peak and nadir of snow is an honor, one that should be respected.
For the last couple of years, measurable snow in Chicago by Christmas has been rare, and before Thanksgiving almost a myth. Mostly due to climate change. Perhaps we’ll get some this year. It certainly seems like it’ll be cold enough. I’ll keep my fingers crossed.
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