Child's perspective melts cynicism toward snow

The first magic flakes fell during church. By the end of the service, large, white flakes were dancing down from above.
Surprise. Snow.
The adults leaving church were properly awed, marveling at the first snowfall. That adults --- who very well know that they could be exposed to this cold, bleak material for five or six months --- still find it wondrous on the first day, is inspiring. Adults, who will rock cars out of it, slip and fall into it, tramp over it, writhe in pain after shoveling it, clean up after it; brush it, scrape it, salt it, shake it off; spend hours blowing it away and digging out of it --- still marvel on the first day of it, even in October.
But all adult amazement is nothing to the sheer delight snow gives to the smallest kids. I don't know how developed the memory of a 3-year-old is, but I know that some glint in Laurie's eyes, when she saw those first flakes, indicated a memory.
The sharp intake of breath and the smile that bloomed on her face as she considered the falling snow was enough to show that she remembered something from a third of her life ago. She knew enough to remember snow angels.
Last year, making snow angels was her favorite snow-related activity. Having to be confined to the house didn't dampen her enthusiasm. One day, after a session of baking left the kitchen floor littered with flour and crumbs, she flopped onto the floor, flipped over to snow-angel position and announced that she was making a dirt angel.
With adults, the initial awe gives way too soon to resignation. Yes, the snow is still pretty on the second fall and it is no less amazing, but the realities of dealing with snow creep in like rust. It doesn't take long before the routine of bundling up feet, hands, head and body, just to go outside, becomes aggravating. Dealing with cars in snow takes all the wonder out of Winter Wonderland.
There is very little sparkle and joy in scraping windshields or trying to turn over a cold engine. You don't enthuse at the falling glitter when your toes are chunks of ice and you are trudging knee-deep down a snow-clogged alley to reach your dead car.
Little kids, though, don't ever mutter angrily at late meetings across town when the roads are slick. They don't worry that their parents will be waiting in the cold for THEM, and they don't rush to stock the pantry when the forecast calls for a long stretch of isolation.
On the first real day of snow, when snow didn't just flutter down but actually covered the ground, Laurie was eager to get out into it. I had a hundred things to do that didn't include making footprints in snow. Somehow, though, her enthusiasm was contagious.
I took pleasure --- at least for this first of many times --- in snapping her into her coat and guiding each finger into its glove position. We ventured out and caught flakes on our tongues. She could have spent all day doing that. But there were snowprints to make.
I showed her how to form a snowball, and this year she was old enough to make one. We scraped just enough snow off the surface of our backyard picnic table to make a mini-snowman. Laurie wanted to jump in the snow and roll in it and cover herself in it. She hadn't yet realized the disappointing reality that soft and fluffy as snow is, it is too cold to enjoy on contact. I'm glad I've got Laurie around to keep me from sinking into hard snow cynicism. She will be a snow angel for many years to come, at least until she owns her first car. Without her fluttering spirits, I'd just be a complaining, grouchy dirt angel all winter long.

Donna Marmorstein 2004