When you live in such a place as the glorious and unpredictable Pacific Northwest, you learn to live by the seat of your pants when it comes to weather reports. 14 day trends? Horribly inaccurate. 7 day forecasts? Only slightly less so. Looking out the window? That’s about the most accurate report you can get.
Something that happens around here is a weird phenomenon of winter biding it’s time until you think you’re just about stepping into spring. Buds have started to show up on certain trees, flowers are peeking through the cold dirt and the sun shines low on the horizon. It’s enough to make anyone think that winter is on it’s way out and spring is just around the corner.
Then you look out the window and there’s a foot of snow.
I used to hate it when things like this happened, like the weather gods were trying to throw off my eventual shrugging off of the winter doldrums, the seasonal affective disorder. They were trying to ruin my worshiping of the spring sun and all the beauty that entails. But now I see it as a wonderful excuse to take the kids outside and take pictures. What is more beautiful, bright and clean then freshly fallen snow? There’s something so satisfying when you look out onto a field of perfect snow, untreaded upon by human or animal. Then you run headlong into it, creating those first footsteps. There’s just something wonderfully child-like about that feeling.
Another wonderful thing about when it snows is when the time comes to go back inside. Cheeks are rosy, hands and feet are freezing. Everyone cozies up by the woodstove together to keep warm and maybe even a freshly made hot chocolate is passed around. There’s just something about that snow.