A marshmallow world
One of my favorite things about the holidays has to be snow. I’m not going to try and tell you that all of the usual things – family, food and traditions – aren’t high on my list. But when I get right down to it, snow is one of the traditions I don’t want to do without at Christmas. This realization came to me the other night while I was standing out in the driveway with my sister in the middle of a snow storm. Snow was falling fast and thick and we had a couple of inches we planned to clear before calling it a night. Count on a good Canadian upbringing to make you realize that there is just going to be more snow to shovel in the morning if you go to bed in a snow storm.
Layered up in cozy clothes with snow shovel in hand, I thought, “It wouldn’t be Christmas if we weren’t out here shovelling the driveway.” Turns out I have just a few holiday memories tied up in that whole snow shoveling ritual. I don’t know when exactly we were turned loose in the driveway with shovels. Maybe it was a punishment, maybe it was a treat. I don’t really remember. Perhaps we were sent out to burn through some after-dinner energy or maybe to give our parents a few minutes of peace and quiet.
I can tell you a few things though, like the fact that there is a right way to shovel snow in our family. It is very precise and when the shoveling is done, everything looks perfect. There are no wonky lines going here and there, everything is tidy and orderly. And one other thing, don’t walk all over the snow before you shovel – clear a path and walk in that. Otherwise your footsteps will stick and then it won’t look nearly as perfect! Likely, all of this comes from many winters of experience. When you are expecting a winter full of snow, you have to shovel with some of this in mind. You know that the snow bank is going to be a few feet high and if you know what’s good for you, you shovel accordingly.
For the longest time, the main snow shovel at our house was one of my dad’s creations. A piece of plywood nailed onto some other wooden remnant to make a handle. It was not easy to lift, so for us girls, it was more of a snow pusher. Someone else would have to come along behind and lift the snow, flinging it onto the bank. That shovel was around for years, slowing wearing out at a distinct angle after years of grating against the pavement. Sometime in the last few years, it was retired and replaced with a fleet of more ergonomic options.
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We’d all string out, single file along the path. And with a few errant picture-takers in the group, there always seemed to be someone running along, trying to catch up. Not to mention a little guy up front who insisted on being carried, no one was really able to set a very daunting pace.
As we made our way home, we came up a party of sledders, making their way into the woods to do some sledding in a clearing. First came the kids, giddy with delight, running up the hills with sleds in tow. But what amused me the most were the adults who came behind. Some carried chairs. Someone else was pushing a giant cooler on a sled. They were going to have a party out there in the woods. I couldn’t help but be a little jealous of the idea of a winter picnic. Maybe I’ll have to think about that for next year! Can’t you just imagine Thermoses filled with tasty soups and hot chocolate? Trade out the chestnuts roasting on an open fire for a few marshmallows and you’d be set!
Snow will always be a part of my fondest Christmas memories. The giant flakes I’d see falling in the light of the street lamp at the end of the drive. The snowbank where we heaved our parents exercise bike for the sake of some goofy photos. The snow forts built on very snowy years. That’s why, in the midst of that snowy downfall, I bundled up my little guy, complete with scarf, hood and mittens, and took him out into the night. Dustpan in hand, he pushed snow with the rest of us. It’s all part of our tradition, after all.
