A snow shower passes over Devil Track Lake, forming snow snakes that swirl over the ice, and I hope that, finally, the gray winter skies will open and unload a hefty helping of snow. I’m tired of this year’s brownish gray landscape. I want to see it transformed into a glistening white wonderland, but I’m not very optimistic. This winter’s snowfall is scant.
As the morning passes and I unload the dishwasher and wipe up toast crumbs, the snowfall thickens, and I start to believe a true snowfall might just happen. I stand at the window and watch as large, soft snowflakes fall gently, covering the deck and railing with white, and decorating the green spruce tree boughs with sparkling confetti.
Feeling like a six-year-old child I watch the quietly drifting snowflakes with wonder. What is it about falling snow that is so mesmerizing, so soothing to the eye and somehow the spirit?
The snow continues falling, and as I drive to town, I keep my vehicle in four wheel drive and carefully maneuver the ruts. I am forced to brush up on my winter driving skills as thick piles of snow sidetrack the wheels. I remind myself that I like snow which does not mean I like ice.
At the grocery story, employees and customers alike are all vocal. “Keep the snow coming—we need it” is the mantra on everyone’s lips.
Snow, in this part of the world, isn’t simply a cold feature of Mother Nature. Snow is part of our economy and our lifestyle. A snowy winter brings in snowmobilers, downhill and cross-country skiers, snowshoe aficionados and mushers. They eat in our restaurants and stay at our lodgings and are a necessary part of our economy. Lack of snow brings difficulties to many businesses.
Snow also covers our septic tanks and water systems, keeping them warmly insulated from the frigid temperatures that appear every winter.
But, truth be told. We simply like snow. It’s part of life up here, as are the chirps of peepers in the spring and loon calls in the summer.
I drive past a group of rosy-cheeked children sledding down a hill, and remember the fun of snow as a child, sledding and building forts, snowball fights and making snow angels. I watch cars carrying skis on their roofs, heading for Lutsen Ski Hill or one of the many cross country trails. Vehicles pulling snowmobile trailers turn onto the Gunflint Trail, looking for snowmobile trails.
When I arrive home and unpack my grocery bags, the snow continues to fall, quietly and without wind, and the next morning, I wake up to another three inches on the top of my car, but the number and size of the snowflakes are diminishing.
The peaceful tranquility of a snowfall has ended, and I see a tiny sliver of blue sky. It’s time to get out the shovels, snowplows and snow blowers and dig out.
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