Does that fluffy stuff want to compete with the leaves for king of autumn splendor?
Is that what’s going on here with this mid-November dumping?
When was the last time we saw snow atop the red and gold foliage?
The powdery stuff from the sky rests atop oak leaves like so many fresh cream puffs.
It’s all very pretty, but it raised havoc for many drivers and caused the cancellations of numerous worthwhile events. We’re not used to these kind of disruptions until after Thanksgiving.
However, if this is a harbinger (hmm … is there a verb “harbinge”?) of an early ski season on Mt. Hood, then it’s probably worth it.
My snow zone experience this week including falling on my backside on Friday. The surprising thing is that it happened just once on my nine-block walk to work. My feet got plenty wet by avoiding the bare areas, but the bare areas were slick.
“Walk in the snow, fall in the snow,” was my mantra as I picked my way across the last part of the Heights flats and then down Seventh Street hill. I could practically hear the laughter of the kids who had sledded there on their snow day Thursday.
Somehow, I think this early snow is partly my mother’s fault. At her Nov. 9 celebration of life service, my brothers and I talked of the way she relished snowfall; she was born and raised in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, and her normally gentle spirit diverted into a mildly mirthful disdain whenever her Northwest-raised sons got the day off from school because of two inches of snow on the ground.
She grew up on ice skates and used to ski from her second story window. Elizabeth Neumann Rea died on Oct. 20 at age 89, and last Sunday we savored those memories, and many more.
On Friday, there on steep Seventh Street when my feet gave way, it made me think of that lovely lady, who taught us to ski and who always made sure we had dry mittens and socks. I am sure that, at the same time up in heaven, my northern-bred mother found simple delight at my graceless tumble on my southern parts.
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