Sunday, November 15, 2015

the first snow

I so love the first snow.

First picture first snow.

I don’t know why, just do.

Perhaps it’s the way snow changes the world for a moment or two, changes how it looks, how it sounds, its very scent, and you notice those changes especially the first moment or two of the first snow, or maybe you notice it all day long, but, for however long, the world is different.

Clem and Herbert enjoy the first snow.

It should be a holiday. The first snow should be a holiday. But then again, let’s not everyone make a big thing of it.

Josie in first snow.

Snow is so quiet.

And it just does its own thing. It really does not care about me, or you, or anyone.

River in first snow.

And it does not miss a thing.

Queen Anne’s lace in first snow.

The first snow won’t last, never does, or, usually never does. This year I keep hearing about last year, how the snow began and then it snowed and snowed and kept on snowing all winter long, but the thing is, there was so much snow on the ground before November 15 that nobody could get to deer camp, holy wah (as they say), and then there was that year just opposite when the snow came just after everyone had gone into the woods to deer camp, and it snowed and snowed and the roads got plowed none too quick that year because everyone was stuck in deer camp, the plow drivers were, anyway, and if you don’t know what deer camp is, well, up here the last two weeks of November are firearm deer season, meaning hunting deer with firearms, though I suppose you don’t actually hunt with the gun, I mean, first you hunt somehow for the deer, then, when you have found them, or when they have found you, you shoot them with your firearm. Alternatives are, say, to use a bow and arrow, but that’s a different season, I think. Anyway, up here firearm deer season is when businesses close and people take holidays to go into the woods to hunt deer and hang out in rustic old cabins with no toilets, no electricity, but probably card games and spaghetti and stuff, and they have, or so I hear, just a really good time and maybe a few deer get shot, gutted, cut up, put in the freezer for venison stew in February. These cabins are handed down generation to generation until they become dark and slick with so many memories their seams bust, and sometimes they have names like “Deer, Do Come Inn” or “Grandpa’s Hut.”

The trail from the river to home in first snow.

But, that’s a sidetrack.

Gully in first snow.

Snow is unambiguous: it changes the season. Sure, snow sometimes gets mixed up with rain and whatnot, the wrong crowd, but we all get mixed up with a bad element now and then, mistake similarities for likenesses and then at some point go: Whoa, what was that? Kind of like snow, because in a way all snowflakes look alike even though I hear each is unique, and people can be kind of like that, but anyway, snow and rain don’t really mix. They compete. One will always win out. A few days ago it was raining, then it was snowing, and at some point the two mixed, but snow won out. At that point, I stood and cheered.

Snow smells so damn fresh; there is nothing fresher than snow.

Spruce in first snow.

The first snow this year, right here, was Friday, November 13. It came sandwiched between a sunny day in the 60s and a sunny day in the 40s. Now, no snow. No trace. All gone. But, for a moment there, it was so damn lovely.

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Warning! If you abhor holiday music, turn back!
But, if you like snow music and homespun videos, you might like this.