Memories of Snow, Lots and Lots of Snow

When I was 13, a blizzard hit. I was living in West Virginia at the time, in the home that I grew up in.

I do not remember all of the details, but I do remember that my Dad's Z71 got stuck in the driveway. I remember being really worried about that. Also, that was the week that I found Jesus.

The blizzard came in over night, snow pouring down in paper sheets of white, snowflakes as large as dimes. The towering pine trees growing on the hill in my back yard creaked under the weight of the snow piling up, one foot, two feet, three feet high - on their branches. Throughout the night, I would doze off, only to be awakened by a loud snap, and the subsequent crunching of branches being plucked off, one by one, shearing the pine trees to look like toothpicks in the morning sun.

Of course, it goes without saying that we lost our electricity. This was a common occurance in the mountains and something that always caused me severe anxiety. But especially now that I was in my first year of menstration, and on my period. The thought of not being able to shower the heavy blood away made me want to die.

However, being the true mountain girl that I was, even my heavy, teenage period could not keep me from the 5 feet deep snow and eight feet high drifts beyond my window. I had never seen so much bright, white freeze before, and the silence of the newly minted cover called me outside.

In my thickest snow wear, I walked outside alone. My front porch emptied directly out into the as-yet-untrespassed blizzard blanket. I chose to cross the hill to the cemetary, where I knew a grove of beautiful pines. I wanted, first, to assess the damage to one of my favorite sanctuaries. But I also wanted to walk and experience the resonant silence that only that amount of snow can create.

I am serious. The silence was palpable. You could not hear a thing. Not anything. No birds, no echoes of trains, no cars on the highway, no people out plowing their driveways - nothing. There was no sound. Except one, you could hear the trees bearing the weight of the snow, and the way that it caused them to sigh and breathe very deeply and heavily, as if they were soldiers carrying wounded comrades out of a war zone.

At least, that is what it made me imagine. With nothing but the sound of the trees, and the blinding white snow overwhelming all of my senses, I walked quietly and with great trouble, to the cemetary.

Once I got there, I smiled broadly at the realization that all of the headstones were covered by the snow. Only the most ornately statued gravesites were visible - the ones with angels or large cement crosses. It was such a stark and beautiful scene. I found my grove and, worn out from walking over a hill in 3-5 feet of snow, I lay down under the pines.

Looking up, I could see the underbelly of the branches caked in snow. Beyond the branches, the sky was also aspirin white. The complete lack of color only made everything more beautiful.

It was the single most solitary and peaceful moment I have ever experienced in my entire life.

Nothing but silence and snow.