Growing Versions

The kids and I have been plunging to deeper and deeper depths to entertain ourselves through these ice encrusted days. When the temperature stays low, it forces us to submerge. To hold our breath and search for a way to float back up to the surface.  

These last few days a combination of dramatic drops in temperature, a sizable dump of snow, followed quickly by rain produced a snow with a solid crust.  So solid, that even me, a fully grown adult, was able to walk on top of it without breaking through. Yesterday was the pinnacle of this type of snow.  Additionally, there were stiff peaked snow bank mountains encircling the school yard that the kids happily scrambled up whenever they could. After supper, the kids declared that they wanted to go sledding.  I was reluctant, but I relented hoping some exercise would help everyone sleep better. We set out.  The hill was dotted with a couple of dozen kids shrieking down the icy slope. My kids did a bit of sledding but were a little freaked out by the speed that they travelled. They gravitated towards the snow piles. The piles created all kinds of crevices to hide behind.  The snow bank was a fourth person in our hide and seek game, a thrill erupted ...

We spent the usual inordinate amount of time in pyjamas, chomping on chocolates and playing by a tree.  We decided that it was time to be outside with real live living trees for a fresh perspective on the whole thing. As the snow gently, but steadily fell, we walked up the street. The snow was fresh and sparkling and, except for the occasional car or bus, the street was quiet.  We had no destination, our sole purpose was walking in snow. Free of groceries to carry or school to get to, we had some time to just enjoy the falling snow. Walking around the neighbourhood is so different in winter. The night and the snow stitched together to blanket us in quiet.  In the words of a spell binding storyteller, Laakkuluk Williamson Bathery, winter nights (much longer in Iqaluit where she lives) are "welcoming and warm." To hear Laakkuluk and others talk about winter listen to a splendid meditation on CBC's Tapestry, The Shortest Day, The Longest Night  .