Category Archives: snow

On snow drifts

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Snow drifts are silent frozen sentinels that stand guard at the gates of winter. Mother Nature, and her helper, the North Wind, work tirelessly throughout winter to sculpt these waves, frozen in time and space until the sun comes out in March. Drifts clog driveways, block up doors and windows, and turn short cuts into dead-ends. Built out of the fluid dynamics of blowing snow, drifts grow in the wake of falling snow, a function of wind and the obstacles the wind and snow encounter. Most of the time you can stand back and just admire the strange fractal art of these strange white waves that don’t move, but a big drift is also a brick wall that must be dismantled if the sidewalk is to be cleared or the driveway made passable. Drifts are made of packed snow which is a whole other animal and bears little resemblance to the white fluffy stuff that gently falls in the woods at the end of the day. Snow drifts are both elegant and beautiful, and at the same time, they are deadly and malevolent. You can’t break through with your car without hurting yourself and hanging up your vehicle. Snow drifts are silent car traps that can hang up the sturdiest four-wheel-drive and leave it with its wheels spinning. The snow is as tough as steel and as delicate as lace. And when the sun comes out, it begins to shrink like the Wicked Witch of the West. Drifts are ephemeral, three-dimensional, chaotic, unpredictable. Drifts are what remind us that we are not in control–never were in the first place.

On snow drifts

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Snow drifts are silent frozen sentinels that stand guard at the gates of winter. Mother Nature, and her helper, the North Wind, work tirelessly throughout winter to sculpt these waves, frozen in time and space until the sun comes out in March. Drifts clog driveways, block up doors and windows, and turn short cuts into dead-ends. Built out of the fluid dynamics of blowing snow, drifts grow in the wake of falling snow, a function of wind and the obstacles the wind and snow encounter. Most of the time you can stand back and just admire the strange fractal art of these strange white waves that don’t move, but a big drift is also a brick wall that must be dismantled if the sidewalk is to be cleared or the driveway made passable. Drifts are made of packed snow which is a whole other animal and bears little resemblance to the white fluffy stuff that gently falls in the woods at the end of the day. Snow drifts are both elegant and beautiful, and at the same time, they are deadly and malevolent. You can’t break through with your car without hurting yourself and hanging up your vehicle. Snow drifts are silent car traps that can hang up the sturdiest four-wheel-drive and leave it with its wheels spinning. The snow is as tough as steel and as delicate as lace. And when the sun comes out, it begins to shrink like the Wicked Witch of the West. Drifts are ephemeral, three-dimensional, chaotic, unpredictable. Drifts are what remind us that we are not in control–never were in the first place.

On January

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The first month of the year is also the coldest month of the year in the northern hemisphere. This is even more true as a frigid arctic vortex spirals out of northern Canada and crawls into the midwest with unbelievably cold temperatures. Between the mean-spirited arctic wind, the cruel sub-zero temperatures, and the relentlessly ironic snow, a person might make plans to move to Arizona sometime in the very near future, if not yesterday. Living in the middle of a January winter is a challenge, but is it a challenge everyone wants to face? Since I now live in Texas, I don’t have to deal with winter. Perhaps it will be a little chilly tonight, but what’s one night compared to ninety nights of cold, black ice? I totally understand neighbors here in Texas who have vowed to never live in ice and snow again–they hate it. Yet, there is beauty in winter, and I know many people who just laugh in the face of sub-zero temperatures and endless drifts of snow as trivial circumstances that defeat only the weakest of minds. Are they sturdy or foolhardy? I couldn’t say, but I see the beauty in having four seasons–you really learn to appreciate the warm sun in spring, and frosty nights of October. Change is good, invigorating, makes you feel alive. I see January as just another challenge, no better or worse than 105F in the shade in central Texas in August.

On January

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The first month of the year is also the coldest month of the year in the northern hemisphere. This is even more true as a frigid arctic vortex spirals out of northern Canada and crawls into the midwest with unbelievably cold temperatures. Between the mean-spirited arctic wind, the cruel sub-zero temperatures, and the relentlessly ironic snow, a person might make plans to move to Arizona sometime in the very near future, if not yesterday. Living in the middle of a January winter is a challenge, but is it a challenge everyone wants to face? Since I now live in Texas, I don’t have to deal with winter. Perhaps it will be a little chilly tonight, but what’s one night compared to ninety nights of cold, black ice? I totally understand neighbors here in Texas who have vowed to never live in ice and snow again–they hate it. Yet, there is beauty in winter, and I know many people who just laugh in the face of sub-zero temperatures and endless drifts of snow as trivial circumstances that defeat only the weakest of minds. Are they sturdy or foolhardy? I couldn’t say, but I see the beauty in having four seasons–you really learn to appreciate the warm sun in spring, and frosty nights of October. Change is good, invigorating, makes you feel alive. I see January as just another challenge, no better or worse than 105F in the shade in central Texas in August.

On walking in the snow

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Walking in the snow is balm to the jagged nerves that the holidays tend to exacerbate. While it was snowing a couple of days ago, I went out for a walk to think about things. Into all lives a certain amount of chaos will always fall: people get older, they get sick and die, or they spend extended amounts of time in the process of dying. This isn’t morbid, it’s just real. The snow falls and reminds me that the seasons change, time goes by, we all get older, everything changes, nothing stays the same except the snow. Walking in the snow reminded me of all the other times in my life that I have walked in the snow–in Minnesota, in Spain, in Texas, in Nevada, in Canada. The snow is silent, gentle, and impersonal–it falls on the just and the unjust equally, and it always will. It covers the sleeping landscape, giving the earth a chance to sleep under an icy blanket, a white death shroud that lovingly envelops everything. When you walk in the snow, you become a part of the shroud, you are a part of death, the silence of the falling snow, the eternity of a single moment. A single snow flake is proof that the entire universe moves towards lowest energy, towards entropy, and we are only incidental players on a universal stage.

On walking in the snow

Posted on by

Walking in the snow is balm to the jagged nerves that the holidays tend to exacerbate. While it was snowing a couple of days ago, I went out for a walk to think about things. Into all lives a certain amount of chaos will always fall: people get older, they get sick and die, or they spend extended amounts of time in the process of dying. This isn’t morbid, it’s just real. The snow falls and reminds me that the seasons change, time goes by, we all get older, everything changes, nothing stays the same except the snow. Walking in the snow reminded me of all the other times in my life that I have walked in the snow–in Minnesota, in Spain, in Texas, in Nevada, in Canada. The snow is silent, gentle, and impersonal–it falls on the just and the unjust equally, and it always will. It covers the sleeping landscape, giving the earth a chance to sleep under an icy blanket, a white death shroud that lovingly envelops everything. When you walk in the snow, you become a part of the shroud, you are a part of death, the silence of the falling snow, the eternity of a single moment. A single snow flake is proof that the entire universe moves towards lowest energy, towards entropy, and we are only incidental players on a universal stage.

On snow flakes

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The engineering and architecture of the snow flake is really a very simple hexagonal lattice which forms regular symmetrical hexagonal prisms. Your car, however, will slip and slide the same whether you know that or not. Every winter I am fascinated by snow and our relationship to it. Where I live in central Texas, it rarely snows at all. The fresh white blanket of a recent snowfall, however, adds incredible beauty to the frozen and desolate landscape of winter. Winter in the Northland is a devastating and painful experience of cold and ice, temperatures so low you have to put a “minus” sign in front of the number. Yet when it warms up to just below freezing, it snows and we have to plow or shovel or go sliding into the ditch–love, hate snow flakes, you might say. Watching falling snow has such a calming effect on me that I can nap at the drop of hat during a fresh snow–I have a Youtube channel on my computer which only shows falling snow. Yet it is slippery, and on more than one occasion I have performed awkward ballet moves on my way down to the ground, proving once and for all that gravity is real and that I am mere flesh and blood that may be broken. My one and only spinout in a car occurred while driving in fresh snow. Snow flakes are of the most delicate combinations of frozen ice crystals, microscopic, really, but they have the power to wreak to havoc on the populations where they fall, clogging up streets and highways, slicking up sidewalks and driveways, making life just a little more dangerous than it already is. So one would have to say that snow is both a blessing and curse, but for the moment, I prefer to see it as a blessing.

On snow flakes

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The engineering and architecture of the snow flake is really a very simple hexagonal lattice which forms regular symmetrical hexagonal prisms. Your car, however, will slip and slide the same whether you know that or not. Every winter I am fascinated by snow and our relationship to it. Where I live in central Texas, it rarely snows at all. The fresh white blanket of a recent snowfall, however, adds incredible beauty to the frozen and desolate landscape of winter. Winter in the Northland is a devastating and painful experience of cold and ice, temperatures so low you have to put a “minus” sign in front of the number. Yet when it warms up to just below freezing, it snows and we have to plow or shovel or go sliding into the ditch–love, hate snow flakes, you might say. Watching falling snow has such a calming effect on me that I can nap at the drop of hat during a fresh snow–I have a Youtube channel on my computer which only shows falling snow. Yet it is slippery, and on more than one occasion I have performed awkward ballet moves on my way down to the ground, proving once and for all that gravity is real and that I am mere flesh and blood that may be broken. My one and only spinout in a car occurred while driving in fresh snow. Snow flakes are of the most delicate combinations of frozen ice crystals, microscopic, really, but they have the power to wreak to havoc on the populations where they fall, clogging up streets and highways, slicking up sidewalks and driveways, making life just a little more dangerous than it already is. So one would have to say that snow is both a blessing and curse, but for the moment, I prefer to see it as a blessing.

On shoveling snow

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Growing up in Minnesota, shoveling snow is just another part of life, like breathing or getting a drink of water. What most people underestimate when they shovel snow is how heavy the white stuff can be and how much energy needs to be exerted to move it. Snow blowers help, but you also have to run the snow blower, which is no piece of cake either. The problem with moving snow, shoveling snow, is that you have to do it in the cold, so do you dress for the cold or for heavy work you will have to do? Sweating and huffing and puffing until you fall, exhausted, into a snow bank, vowing to move to Florida as soon as possible. The shovels, themselves, are partially the problem. No one has ever designed the ergonomic shovel because those designing shovels are never the people using the shovels. Shovel designers probably live in Brownsville, Texas, and have never seen snow in their lives. Shoveling snow at zero degrees Fahrenheit with a stiff wind blowing out of the northwest is not a recommended scenario, but happens more often than you would think. Snow, blind, inert, unfeeling, does not cooperate with those moving it. It blows in your face, accumulates in drifts as hard as concrete, and unless you move it (or the wind), it stays where it lands. Yet, after an hour of hard work, is there any greater satisfaction of looking back over your clean sidewalk and walking into the house for a hot cup of cocoa knowing that everyone can walk down your sidewalk without having to fight the snow.

On shoveling snow

Posted on by

Growing up in Minnesota, shoveling snow is just another part of life, like breathing or getting a drink of water. What most people underestimate when they shovel snow is how heavy the white stuff can be and how much energy needs to be exerted to move it. Snow blowers help, but you also have to run the snow blower, which is no piece of cake either. The problem with moving snow, shoveling snow, is that you have to do it in the cold, so do you dress for the cold or for heavy work you will have to do? Sweating and huffing and puffing until you fall, exhausted, into a snow bank, vowing to move to Florida as soon as possible. The shovels, themselves, are partially the problem. No one has ever designed the ergonomic shovel because those designing shovels are never the people using the shovels. Shovel designers probably live in Brownsville, Texas, and have never seen snow in their lives. Shoveling snow at zero degrees Fahrenheit with a stiff wind blowing out of the northwest is not a recommended scenario, but happens more often than you would think. Snow, blind, inert, unfeeling, does not cooperate with those moving it. It blows in your face, accumulates in drifts as hard as concrete, and unless you move it (or the wind), it stays where it lands. Yet, after an hour of hard work, is there any greater satisfaction of looking back over your clean sidewalk and walking into the house for a hot cup of cocoa knowing that everyone can walk down your sidewalk without having to fight the snow.