Snowpocalyspe

When we first announced our move to Chicago people asked us if John had ever seen snow.  While it doesn't snow in Berkeley, John has traveled fairly extensively (a trip to Tahoe is almost a birthright in Berkeley), so John had seen snow.  But, as far as I could recall, all the snow John had ever seen had already been there when he witnessed it.  In other words, John had never seen snow happen.

This is a crucial distinction.  I have learned as the parent of a kindergartener to take nothing for granted.  The whole world is so mysterious, so magical, so downright confusing that his expectations of how things work can be (are often) completely off. 

For example, this year John enjoyed Christmas break and was fully prepared to go back to school on the first Monday of the New Year.  Come Tuesday I was shocked to discover that he was still in his pajamas watching cartoons while I was finishing packing his lunch.  "John - you've got to get ready for school," I urged.   "But I went yesterday!" he wailed.  I had to sympathize.  How would John know that after break you go to school on Tuesdays?  We'd only explained the Monday part.

Consequently I wasn't sure what John thought about where snow comes from.  He could think that it grew out of the ground or was brought by magic fairies, or even fell from the sky for all I knew.

Rest assured, over the last two months John has seen it snow plenty of times.  Yesterday was a prime example.

The historic storm started around 2PM on Tuesday and raged all day and all night and well into Wednesday.  The wind blew so hard that our storm windows shook and the exhaust fan on the stove whistled.  Drifts formed around cars and fences, enveloping fire hydrants, shrubs, and staircases.  Sometimes the snow was coming down so hard and heavy we couldn't see to the end of the block.  It snowed and snowed and snowed and when over 20 inches had fallen, it suddenly stopped.

We threw on our coats and hats and grabbed our cameras and snowshoes.  The back stairs were completely blocked, so we headed for the front door.  When we got to our entry the front door opened onto a solid 18 inches of snow (good thing the door opened inwards!).  We sat on the mound that had been our stairs, put on our snowshoes, and braved the great outdoors.

Our street (a minor side street) had not yet been plowed.  Snow was at least 18 inches deep; in many places it was actually much deeper.  We live just blocks from Lake Michigan and the lake effect plus high winds made for deep drifts.   Where there had been bear ground and lightly frosted lawns there was now a sea of white.  To tell you the truth, it wasn't much like the snow had come from the sky, more like it had grown out of the ground or been brought by magic fairies or the like.

You could see the delight on the faces of all the people who had come out after the storm, at least those who weren't trying to shovel or move their cars. Thank goodness we are renting!  Children were sledding on snow wherever it was heaped - on stairs, at the ends of alleys, in the middle of roads where stalled snowplows had given up the fight.  College students roamed in packs, cell phones held out as cameras to document their day.  Intrepid adults on cross country skis and snowshoes (we weren't the only ones) gave tips on where the snow was best.

We trekked toward Lake Michigan.  I quickly got the hang of the snowshoes; John seemed to misunderstand their purpose, finding them cumbersome and thinking them unnecessary. ("John, have you noticed that you are walking ON TOP of the snow and Daddy is up to his knees in drifts?")  Blocks of apartments (including our own) had cleared sidewalks.  Homeowners seemed to be making difficult choices - free their cars or the sidewalk before the snow ices over (this morning it is 5 degrees with negative wind chills).  At the lake we discovered what one friend has termed "the volleyball court at the end of the world."  John and I pretended to play on the frozen sand with the iron-grey lake behind us.

John ran out of steam, "It is too snowy. I am too sweaty. Mommy is too fast (to throw snowballs at).  I need to rest.  (And when his snowshoes came loose for the third time) I never want to wear snowshoes for the rest of my life ever, ever again!"  (I did adjust his foot beds last night with a screwdriver.)  It was time to come in.

When we came home our stairway had been shoveled and we were able to head upstairs for a well-earned hot cocoa and a warmer view of the snow from the window.