Let it snow? Jon Svec’s November 8 column It snowed on Sunday. More than a dusting, it fell long and steady through the night, pushed by strong winds and made to bank at the base of buried steps and the bottoms of garage doors. This was the real stuff, heavy with longevity, the kind Frosty was made of. It got us overnight and surprised the early risers. We watched its perpetual drop as the sunlight peaked out for a fraction of the day. Some of us huddled on couches, turned up the ballgame and pulled the covers tight. The more proactive of us struck out frequently as the day grew long, tried to stay ahead of the fall by chipping away at it, bit by hoary bit. By Monday we were buried. The roads grew full of deep ruts cut through the generous layers of substance—a trifle of ice and slush and snow. The same type of snowfall in January would mean nothing. That first one, though, always brings with it a significant sort of shift. It’s an excuse to be late, a reason not to show. It’s an invitation to revert back to the school kid who prayed for bus cancellations and impromptu holidays. “Didn’t I ask you to do that last week?” “Have you seen what it’s doing outside?” At the same time, the first big snowfall of the year is an extremely unifying event. Neighbours come running to the sounds of tread on ice. Stuck cars on Main Street need not reach for their phones, as willing passersby are quick to lend a hand, rocking cars back and forth while wheels turn this way and that, hoping for any form of traction. On days like that, there is no such thing as a silent transaction. Small talk springs easy, and it’s not a cliché if you mean it. “I had to dig the old boots out, too.” “No, you can’t ever be ready for it.” “I don’t think it will last either.” It’s like those movies where the aliens invade Earth and all of the warring countries must band together in order to fight a common enemy. A different foe, still borne from the sky, falls onto Shellbrook and the surrounding communities, extinguishes rivalries and feuds, brings us closer to peace. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still an inconvenience. Shovelling snow is tough work. Huffed breaths burn sharp through cold air, and leave traces of that tinny taste in the throat. And if you happen to be from Ontario and drive a small car with summer tires, that can pose some problems too. Wet feet stay wet throughout the workday. Residents flocked to the streets with shovels and boots and those toques that cover the face. Snow removal vehicles beeped in reverse, blowers revved loud and flung the soggy mess into neater piles. By Tuesday we had carved new lines into our townscape. Streets stretched smooth but slick, chunks of snow protruding like rubble from the mounds that lined the newly skinny pathways. I know, I know. This is nothing. It’s going to get worse. I get it. For now I’ll try and focus on some positives—the clean crispness of the brisk air, the white-trimmed trees, hanging with new weight. The blank canvass of a new season, fresh for now and unblemished, offering up second chances, or at least the illusion of them.
Posted on: Fri, 08 Nov 2013 21:39:54 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015