Friday, November 3, 2017

“You wake up on a winter morning and pull up the shade, and what lay there the evening before is no longer there–the sodden gray yard, the dog droppings, the tire tracks in the frozen mud, the broken lawn chair you forgot to take in last fall. All this has disappeared overnight, and what you look out on is not the snow of Narnia but the snow of home, which is no less shimmering and white as it falls. The earth is covered with it, and it is falling still in silence so deep that you can hear its silence. It is snow to be shoveled, to make driving even worse than usual, snow to be joked about and cursed at, but unless the child in you is entirely dead, it is snow, too, that can make the heart beat faster when it catches you by surprise that way, before your defenses are up. It is snow that can awaken memories of things more wonderful than anything you ever knew or dreamed.”

~ Frederick Buechner, Telling the Truth

We don our coats, mittens, and hats and head out again—third time so far today—to shovel the snow that continues to fall. Enough already. And yet, even as we work, there is a bubble of delight at this first, early and major, storm of the season.

The drive into town in the morning was predictably slow and interesting. We called on memories of winters past, hoped the cars around us had been outfitted with suitable tires and were being driven by prudent drivers, and took our time. We tended to what needed to be tended to at the clinic then headed straight home, foregoing shopping, as the snow fell and the wind blew, and winter arrived.

We enjoy a slow afternoon of hot tea, fresh bread, apple crisp, show shoveling, snow watching, and puttering around the house. With our well-stocked larder we can easily hunker down and wait out the snow but for one, very important, thing we neglected to ensure we had enough of: coffee.

Someone has to brave the roads tomorrow (which, as I write this, is today) to buy coffee beans. We must also make sure, in the coming months, that we keep an emergency supply of the needed elixir. It does not conjure warm thoughts, the idea of being snowbound with no morning coffee—things could go south in a hot and harsh hurry with no frothy mugs of soy milk and hot coffee to start the day.

That’s a concern for tomorrow though. For now, cozy and content, we enjoy—yes, there is a measure of enjoyment—the first storm of the season as we get a few things done in between periods of shoveling heavy, wet snow.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.
  1. Snowing here today too. A beautiful soft snow. Silent and still. Had to go out for medical appointments. So grateful to come home to find driveway shoveled by helpful neighbour.

    1. Neighbours like that are a blessing, aren’t they? It’s nice being indoors when the soft and silent snow, like you describe here, falls. It is just so early for a major dump like we had here. We are in a cold snap now so I think it’s here for the duration,

  2. There are a few things I hate being without, and usually make sure I have enough for at least a week. You know how it can snow and snow and snow, and being without coffee is just a horrible thought! You are so fortunate you have a pantry full of good homemade stuff to sustain you.

    1. Yes, but for coffee and soy milk we could easily stay home for a good long time! Need to be better at making sure we are well stocked now that it looks like winter is here.

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