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| John Crane Watercolour |
I think about all the winters of my youth, replete with overloads of snow. None of this two to three feet business, but five, seven or ten feet of it...all in one storm. I remember the winters of the 1950's in Iowa and for me, they were magical. I had the best snowmen - over fix feet tall. There were rides down Duck Creek Park hill on my aluminum saucer with my Boston Bull terrier Mickey scrambling after me all the way down. He just hated that saucer!
And there was always a fire in the fireplace, stories by the firelight and hot chocolate with the mini-marshmallows in it. I can still smell the cookies baking in the kitchen and see my family around the table for supper (dog smacking his lips under the table). Those were the days we actually ate supper together. No television - right to the homework. Basically television was only for Saturday and Sundays. Music was always playing, however and once in a great while, Dad would get out his Benny Hill recordings. Mom was aghast at those, because they were too "blue" for her taste and naturally I was too young to hear such raunchy things. But if anyone knows me well, they will tell you I can hear dust falling!! I just loved those albums!!! And now they are classics! And boy, are they tame!
But in school, I will always remember reading the poetry of Robert Frost. His thoughts were so simple - nothing complicated or obtuse. No wonder he was an American Poet Laureate. My very favourite one is "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening." And here it is:
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping there
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Those wonderful nights when I could walk through the deep snow, listening to the snow falling on the ground, tweak memories of being in love, sharing those walks with someone who was also attuned to the falling snow and enjoyed such a simple pleasure with me. I hope that wherever he is, he will still take the time to wander through a snowy footpath in the pristine snow, listening to those frosted flakes of diamond encrusted snow as they fall on the branches.Robert Frost reminds us to savour the simple pleasures of life...snow, nature, a child's smile. And perhaps, as I have grown older, I can appreciate those memories in a deeper way...innocence, wonder or love. Those are the warm fuzzies of my childhood and a fantastic base for being an adult. I'll never give up those dreams and memories - they will be tucked away in that tiny place in my heart where the good things are kept forever.
I'll stop by the woods on my way home tonight and smell the fresh air God has created for me. And I'll never take this for granted...nor the snowy woods on a winter's evening.
