Do you remember snow? Not the fluffy few inches today’s weathermen call a “blizzard,” but the thick blankets from days past when drifts crept halfway up the sides of homes and buildings. Shoveling out your car didn’t mean scooping snow from around it, but it could, at times, literally mean un-burying the hidden vehicle. Driving over snowy roads could also be a challenge—especially if snowbanks were higher than your car.
Weather forecasting, too, has changed from the bygone days of earlier decades when all you needed to predict a coming storm was a current issue of The Old Farmer’s Almanac, or to listen to elders who insisted they could predict a snowstorm because they could “feel it coming in their bones.” Much of forecasting in earlier years was done “by guess and by golly.”
With the arrival of November, and sometimes as early as late-October, you knew winter would soon be wrapping itself around the land, dusting it sparkling white. Southbound geese faded from view, and fetching the morning newspaper was accompanied by the sight of your own frosted breath, floating in front of you, the white puffs of smoke suspended in mid-air.
Children impatiently anticipated the first snowfall of the season while writing letters addressed to Santa Claus with wishes for ice skates and sleds—along with “Can you please make it snow?” requests. For many folks, a snowy landscape meant Christmas was coming as surely as the first sight of a candy cane.
Familiar holiday carols emphasized the chilliness of the season with lyrics like “let it snow,” “walking in a winter wonderland,” and “I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.”
When the long-awaited flakes started falling, usually long before Christmas—or the two-week vacation from school that followed it—youngsters ran to the window, and then outside. Winter’s arrival brought with it the sound of boots stomping on the front porch and the sight of soggy mittens drying on the woodstove or radiator. Blankets and quilts were pulled closer at nighttime as blustery winds crept in through the cracks of houses. Single-paned windows kept the snow out, but allowed the cold to penetrate in. And each new morning brought with it a unique icy painting, drawn from the brush of old Jack Frost himself.
Mothers and fathers reminded youngsters to shut outside doors more quickly. “We’re not heating the outside!” they scolded. “Were you raised in a barn?!” Thrift was a way of living, whether it concerned food or fuel. After all, money didn’t “grow on trees.”
Many homes were kept warm with firewood heaped high outside on woodpiles. Hard-working fathers, with broad shoulders and calloused hands, tended woodstoves and fireplaces, and kept their axes sharp. Smoke rose from chimneys, curling into the forever sky, beckoning those outside to quicken their step and come sit by the fire. A cup of mulled cider, flavored with Christmasy spices, was always a welcomed treat while unthawing by the fireside in December if you had a nipped nose or were numb with cold.
Old Man Winter woke up “on the wrong side of the bed” many mornings as the days grew shorter and colder. Fast-falling snow could create whiteouts when the season closed in, greatly reducing visibility and halting travel—even local travel. This would, predictably, cause an excitement among entire populations of neighborhood children as they realized school would undoubtedly be cancelled, freeing up a full day for playing in the snow.
Parents unpacked winter wardrobes from cedar closets—woolen sweaters, turtlenecks, flannel shirts, knee-socks, ear muffs, and thermal long underwear. (“Long johns” were widely worn by both genders to combat brisk temperatures.) Boys and girls layered warm garments as protection against the chill of winter before heading outside into the splendor of a whitened world. Even snowmen remembered to bundle up; they were often seen wearing hats perched on top of their very round heads and mittens tucked over the ends of their branched arms. A big bowl of Cream of Wheat cereal, served warm, or Quaker oatmeal, sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, helped keep bellies toasty, fortifying youngsters against the cold before they headed out into the snow.
Playful boys and girls poured from house doors, filling their lungs with fresh air, catching nickel-sized snowflakes on their tongues as they ran to backyard sheds. They rushed through creaking garage doors and into dusty corners where ice skates, in many sizes, hung with knotted laces looped from rusty nails. Seasonal toys were pulled from atop rafters. Little hands clutched short ropes attached to sleds and wooden toboggans, stretching many feet long, as the winter vehicles were towed to “the hill,” the highest and steepest slope in town. Metal sleigh runners left an unmistakable trail as they were dragged across trackless, freshly-fallen snow.
Toboggans, lengthy enough to carry a half-dozen of your closest cousins, lined the crests of favorite sledding spots. Vertical views from these hilltops could be quite dramatic—especially if they were known by dangerous-sounding nicknames like “Dead Man’s Drop” or “Point of No Return”—adding to the sense of adventure. Excited riders, sometimes as many as eight, would scrunch forward, making room for yet one more. Whisking off and picking up speed, riders would hang on to one another tightly, “for dear life,” letting out screams—“wheeeeeeeeee”—that would begin at the top of the hill and persist to the bottom. The whole charade would end in a tangled mess of limbs and laughter. Then, it was back up the hill, with huffing and puffing, and heart rates doubling, for more merriment.
Whether a runway was a straight shot down, or a curvy path with twists and turns, warmly-clad youngsters filled many wintry afternoons going up the hill, and down the hill, up and down, all afternoon long until it was time to drag their aching legs home. The fun would resume another day when mothers urged, “Go outside and play!”
High-pitched voices also begged fathers to shovel driveways and walkways when snow arrived in measurable accumulation so elaborate forts and “igloos” could be crafted, between which a barrage of snowballs would later fly.
When you’re a ten-year-old boy, nothing feels quite so good as a freshly-packed snowball in the palm of your hand, squeezed and pressed into formation between your gloved, yet numb, fingers; except, perhaps, spotting a few of your friends within launching range. Neighborhood boys battled in friendly competition to see who had the better aim. (Worse than being pegged with a speedy snowball, however, was the infamous surprise of being ambushed by a friend with a handful of snow, quickly stuffed down the back of a shirt, or more dreadful, a pair of pants.)
Youngsters spent hours digging intricate systems of tunnels when the snow fell many inches deep, burrowing into high-piled snowbanks lining driveways, attempting to construct the largest fort in the neighborhood.
The outskirts of plowed parking lots also produced another snowy playground for frosty entertainment. Tall piles lining the edges, the tallest in town, would be deemed suitable for a spontaneous game of “king of the mountain.” Screams and laughter would fill the air as smaller-bodied members of the group were sent tumbling down the slopes and, almost as quickly, went scrambling back up again in valiant attempts to take dominion of the higher territory. Others, preferring only to watch the roughhousing, lay in the snow on their backs, spread-eagled, with frozen smiles and noses rather red, creating snow-angels in all shapes and sizes.
Shaking the powdery snow from their shoulders, youngsters would then combine their efforts rolling growing balls of snow, in hopes of constructing the biggest snowman ever. Driving through town, entire families of snowmen could sometimes be spotted.
Lakes and swiftly-flowing rivers offered another favorite winter pastime when the waters froze solid—ice skating. Shovels were gathered and hometown “ice rinks” were swept clean of snow, readying the ice for wintry fun. Sharpened skates were laced snugly around ankles, and skaters, with rose-blushed cheeks, swirled and twirled, pretending to be world-class Olympians. The sound of metal blades carving figure-eights into the fresh ice echoed through riverbed arenas and across lakes. Some of the more daring and adventurous skaters could, on a windy day, use bed sheets for sails, each skater holding an edge of an outstretched sheet, catching the breeze, and “sailing” down an icy stretch, gliding along the glassy surface.
Boys and girls, with noses dripping, then traced their footsteps home. Everyone traded smiles as the memory-making day came to a close. Years later, these grown-up youngsters would recall happy hours from their vanished youth, remembering a time when money was scarce, but fun was plentiful. And they’d long to return.