Winter was made for the makers.

Last night in the dark as I walked home there was a fresh coat of snow lightly falling. As we shone the flashlight ahead of us I saw a quick little fox race across the road. we surprised him as much as he surprised us. We have had plenty of snow here in the last little while. I don't mind it too much though it does interfere with my walking sometimes. 

I find that walking on snow takes twice as much energy and I can never get my pace right up. In the snow I trudge and stumble. I am always wary of the ice lurking underneath. But still I walk, slowly and clumsily because it clears my head.

Driving in the snow is another matter. Snow covered roads are fine. I live in Canada and though the roads are not always covered, and we are not north, there are often messy roads. And sometimes the snow comes unexpectedly. I remember driving through big storms after hockey games when the snow and the wind were fearsome.

Last week I was driving back from Halifax. I live north of the Wentworth and Folly mountains and I have to drive through them to get back to Amherst. Years ago, when we were young, before we were married and I was driving through those mountains with Robert he told me, "The snow lives on Folly Mountain." I loved the poetry in those words and they always stuck with me. On that drive back from Halifax the other night I felt those words. We drove for the first hour or so through clear roads and grey weather. It was not pretty but but it was clear. As I climbed the mountain and got through the pass I started to see some snow on the road. Within minutes they were snow covered. It is a divided highway which is reassuring but I could see that on the other side of the road the traffic was coming really slow. A bad sign, there was more weather ahead. I felt stressed. And white knuckles were on the wheel. Within another few minutes there was a total white out. There were no trucks or cars ahead of me or behind to lead the way. I started to ask my husband who was in the passenger seat if I should pull over. And he calmly said, "Your doing good." I did not feel as if I was because I was so nervous. The snow was blinding. I could not see where I was on the road and I had slowed down. I said, "Can you put on my four way flashers." And he did. 

And I drove slowly plodding on for about twenty minutes until slowly it began to let up as we started down the mountain into the valley below. And honestly I was scared, I had no visibility. And I have thought about that drive quite a bit since I got home. Unpredictable weather, winter in Nova Scotia, it is all just part of life here. And after having done it I know what I can do. But still I don't want to. I would never plan to drive in a storm but sometimes they arise unexpectedly and you have no choice. Sometimes you have to ride it out.

And this is winter. It is a time of hats and scarves and parkas. And many people want to escape it. I understand the need to fly south and settle on a beach with a Margarita. Sure. The thing I find though that a week or two away is just a little dream, you still have to come back to the winter. And so I rarely bother to leave it. Because essentially I love the seasons, and winter is just another one of them. 

I like the wood stove, the fire. I like being cold and then warming myself. I love layering my clothes. And though I take Nora Ephron's advice and refuse to worry about my neck, I do love how a turtle neck sweater makes the whole issue disappear. And throws on couches, and furry wool pillows. Well yes. I love those too.

Winter was made for makers. It makes you want to stay home and create. You want to cozy up with your hooking and let the world outside be painted white. It keeps us close to home. Another thing I love. Being home is good. And then there is soup and stew and meals like Mac and cheese and meatloaf. Who eats those things in the summer? 

Winter is good. Home is good. And snow is just a part of all that, and when it falls I just want to stay home and make stuff. I want to cook, and hook and write, and yes sometimes I imagine spring, but mostly I settle in.