Journal

The Snow Story

I’d been living in Georgia and it had been two years since I’d seen snow. Growing up in Pennsylvania, snow was an intergral part of my childhood and I loved it- how soft it was, and how white, and how it dampened all the sound so that sometimes you could wake up, and without even looking out the window, you would know it was a snow day. Flushed red cheeks, ugly knit caps and sleds that still had those runners you had to wax, and we’d go sledding down the hill in the graveyard, screeching with joy and terror and trying to avoid all the gravestones.
Georgia was different- it was very beautiful, but it was flat- no hills. No snow, either. Hot, hot humid heat all the time, everything wet and lush and green. It was gorgeous but I missed the snow and eventually I returned to the North and moved to New York.
It was a rough time there for me- I’d never really known I was a country girl until then, but pretty soon it was painfully obvious. There were good times, too- I was seeing a great guy, threre were stores and clubs and shops I’d never dreamed of, and the burritos were great. But I guess somewhere I knew that I still hadn’t found what I needed.
By Autumn I had a job at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. What a great place to work! I thought, but soon I was going nuts there, too, falling apart a little at the seams.
One evening after work, I walked out onto the steps and it was snowing. Big, wet, flakes, light as air. There was snow everywhere, already three inches deep on the pavement, lit up against the dark sky by the Museum’s spotlights like motes of dust in a sunbeam. The knot inside me loosened a little and I looked up and smiled. Snow! That’s what I’d been missing. Snow.
I noticed that there was this tiny Hispanic woman who had been staring at me during this little reverie and I turned and smiled back.
‘You look so beautiful with the snow caught in your dark hair,’ she said. Wow, I thought. It’s snowing and someone in New York is being nice to me.
‘Thanks,’ I smiled. ‘You know, this is the first time I’ve seen snow in two years. I missed it so much.’
She laughed. ‘I’m from Argentina. This is the first time I’ve seen snow in my entire life. ‘

Posted August 6, 2004 in
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Comment

  1. wow, great story! thats what i kinda figured when i viewed your snow illustration page. now i wish it was snowing.

    — lou

  2. I’m quite sure that by now you’ve grown tired of hearing how talented you are, but it begs repeating. I can usually decide within the first three or four sentences whether or not I want to keep reading. And usually, I don’t. But your writing style captures my imagination and makes me want to read more. You have a captivating style, and I hope that you continue to folow your creative endeavors.

    — monad

  3. what a lovely story. i have lived in georgia for all my time (though 15 years isn’t that long of a life) and rarely see snow. it’s so funny sometimes because we get snow days for just having ice on the roads. when that rare day comes i always get very exicted and my dad – who was born and raised in brooklyn – says something to the effect of “this isn’t a snow day, i think you should go to school anyway.” i remember once, when i was about three, there was a blizzard. it was beautiful. we played in the snow and had an actually snow ball fight. we still have pictures. every winter i hope for another one, but it hasn’t happened since.

    ps – i love your artwork. it’s very inspiring. my friend noah showed it to me, and i am very glad he did :)

    — katie

  4. Liked your story, I miss feeling that way about the snow. Have been reading your journal for a couple of months. Always leaves me at peace.

    How wrong and unnatural. Stuffed into little boxes. Our mind and body categorized. Not able to see the stars as we fall asleep.

    — lowell

  5. The first time I saw a snowfall was on the drive back from a friends three day 21st birthday celebration, as we detoured through New Zealand’s Southern Alps (the mountains in the LOTR movies). At first I thought it was an incredibly huge swarm of tiny bugs, but when we were still driving through them after about five kilometers, my friend Lissette proferred the opinion that perhaps it was snow. It was so beautiful and I was so excited that I made ‘Zette get out of the car and dance with me in the headlights – much to the mirth and delight of passing traffic… good times!

    — Solender

  6. that was really nice. If that lady was from NY I wonder if she would have been so gracious. I have great pictures of us sledding in the graveyard. I also have great memories of sledding when i was a kid. Freezing and changing my wet gloves for socks to keep my hands warm!

    — Mom


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