Where Are The Snows of Yesteryear?

Looking at Snow Through the Eyes of a Child

My guru’s frequent saying, one that I heard and remembered the most: “Where, or where are the snows of yesteryear?” Each time he spoke this, he marveled how adults dreaded snow, focusing on its inconvenience in getting around. How the whiteness soon changed into the blackness of urban living. The endless shoveling as the falling snow stopped, only by the plunging temperatures toward zero. The hassles of finding a parking place or getting in and out of your garage. All this jaded the attitude of an adult. The perception that each consciousness focused on dealt with the negative impact of how the snow disrupted daily life. Forgotten, as if it happened in another life, was looking at snow through the eyes of you as a child.

Whenever my Guru, Kriyananda, quoted: “Where, or where are the snows of yesteryear?”, he closed his eyes or looked out with a distant glaze as if he remembered himself as a child, seeing the snow, feeling the excitement grow inside and clamoring to get outside to play in it! He smiled so fondly that it reminded me of how much I enjoyed the snow each time I encountered it. The first snow back then created such a joy that I couldn’t wait to also run outside to fling myself into the nearest snow bank. It felt magical as everything turned from dull colors to become covered over by pure white. I learned later in art class that white holds all the colors of the rainbow. However, back then, it simply felt complete to me.

I endured my Mom dressing me in so many layers just so I could get outside. I did make many attempts to escape sooner, but she dragged me back each time. Once outside, doing my best to walk, running could never happen, I felt the snow sting my face while flacks landed on my eyelashes. I found it easier to roll around in the snow to get around rather than stagger along. Rolling made me laugh so much as the world spun around and around, gathering up an enormous amount of snow in the process. Soon my Mom and I came to an agreement that if I wear less clothes, then no more rolling around in the snow.

My new found freedom of movement enabled me walk up and down the block where I soon learned to make and to use snowballs from the other kids. This led to fort building and eventually, to dig tunnels. I don’t know if my parents ever found about this, but they never mention it to me. They did marvel how long I spent outside in the cold and how much snow could come back with me. The kitchen door stayed locked so I needed to enter the building from the basement door. Here, I received strict instructions that all outer clothes much stay down there near the washer machine. The hot chocolate that followed my entrance to the kitchen always tasted wonderful!

My parents began to appreciate my absences as the seasons continued their cycles. In a few years I began to walk over to the park a block away. The park custodian, an ancient looking man, spent a lot of time layering water on the ball field, waiting until it froze solid before adding another layer. I use to watch him patiently using a hose to apply the latest layer evenly so that the surface stayed smooth. It felt like he did this routine many times in the past. One time he noticed me, or maybe he simply acknowledged my existence and invited me closer. He enjoyed telling me how difficult it is to create a smooth surface in which to skate on without contending with bumps. The wind and the temperature, among other considerations, needed to get factored in to achieve the goal of an even surface.

My parents bought me my own set of skates and I couldn’t wait to use them out on the ice. It never dawned on me that I needed to learn how to balance on two blades of steel! My Mom took me to this frozen field where I soon figured out that what so many others made to look so easy, turned out quite hard. I really struggled to stay up, but eventually fell backwards, spraining my left arm in the process. Mom quickly took off her skates, walking in just her socks, to half carry me back to the car. She feared that I broke a bone as my arm swelled up. We made the trip to our doctor’s office for an x-ray. Just a bad sprain which produced a look of relief on her face, but still hurt a lot to me. My Dad told me that I will fall again when skating, so I need to think “Become a rag doll” as I head down. This image, he said, will relax all muscles, making the crash less painful. Tension produces the injury and makes it far more painful. He took me through some imaginary falls with this image of a rag doll.

When my arm healed, Dad took me out on the ice because he could skate so well and did so his entire life. Mom grew up in Florida so possessed a limited experience with ice or snow, for that matter. He didn’t hover over me, but kept a respectful distance allowing me to get my “ice legs” in my own time and in my own way. Of course I fell, but he didn’t come closer, but continued to skate around the pond effortlessly. Each time I did fall I said rag doll and my muscles stayed relax as Dad promised. I sat on the ice each time watching Dad glide by and figured how to get up and then stopped struggling to stay up but just stood there with my ankles bulging in toward each other. Then Dad passed by saying “glide, don’t walk, one leg at a time”. I did exactly that since walking on the ice meant falling on my rear. It worked and soon I made it all the way around the pond! When we both sat on the bench, he gave me a big hug and one of his biggest smiles! He said something like facing your fear requires courage and now I could continue ice skating without him.

So I skated by myself the next day and found it required much less effort and become easier as I made it around the pond. Later, at home Mom mentioned that Dad left right after me, but didn’t know where. I always wondered if he watched me in my first solo effort? One thing led to another as I continued returning to skate every chance I could while the ice remained frozen. The next year, I wanted hockey skates and all the equipment which showed up under the Christmas tree. From then on, if my parents ever wanted to find me, they needed to walk over to the park.