Moving from the tropics to snow country has been enlightening, to say the least. Frozen doors on the car that won’t open, shoveling driveways, temps down to 6 degrees…wow, it’s been so cool (no pun intended).
Seriously, it’s been a fun experience to shovel a driveway for the first time in my life. Although now I understand why a person would buy an expensive snow shovel…my cheapy $2 one from D.I. (used) has already cracked. Sigh. Guess I need to join the “big boys” and buy a really nice shovel to last out the winter.
My kids first exposure to snow came this October when a freak snowfall hit our area. My 13-year-old daughter cried out while holding the white fluffy stuff, “It feels like cotton!” Not sure why that paralleled for her, but it worked and I thought it adorable.
Ahhh, I love snow. It’s been so long since I’ve lived in snow. Florida, where I’ve lived for the last twelve years, now seems like a dream since my family and I moved to the west. The cold may get old eventually, but there are always purposes for cold.
Take garlic bulbs, for example. They will not yield their healing properties without having over-wintered in the cold ground of this frigid time. Tulips will not spring forth in glorious blooms without having been imprisoned in the freezing dirt of the same season.
Sometimes I think creativity is the same. Without experiencing austere conditions, how can we write with depth? How can we paint with emotion? How can we dance with feeling evident all the way down through our toes?
Yes, sometimes I get tired of the cold…in more ways than one. Yet that is when I wonder if I’m rejecting an artist’s most potent friend. Art of any kind becomes more resiliant, more whole, more real when its artist has faced cold at least once in a lifetime.