My first snow
For my first contribution to this amazing advent calendar (thank you all at the Grizzly Gazette so much for organizing this! I'm genuinely honored to be a part of it), I thought of the most wintery thing I could: snow!
Before last winter, though, I had actually never seen snow. According to some northerners, I still haven't, but a little snow is still snow! And anyway, this was a particularly magical snowfall, because it was in Florida.
North Florida has gotten some snow before, but it's rare. The last time it snowed was around 2018, before I even thought about moving there. As soon as it became apparent that we'd get snow, which was probably around a week out, the local government sent out emails urging everyone to only use the roads if absolutely necessary. Even the northernmost Florida towns aren't built with icy roads in mind. Most businesses planned on closing shop for at least a day, and schools, which had recently restarted for the spring semester, instructed students to stay home.
When the snow day finally came, I think it brought out the most people I'd ever seen just hanging out (chilling, if you will). It seemed like everyone in town was on a walk in their improvised winter gear. There was only an inch or two of snow on the ground, but it was enough to make everything outside feel completely new.
With the first step outside my apartment, I could see snow covering every roof. I was probably overly cautious of the icicles hanging from the eaves, though in my defense, my main exposure to icicles was A Christmas Story. The brick half-wall out front already had two miniature snowmen sitting on top of it, and apparently everyone else in town had the same idea, because there were snowmen nearly everywhere I looked.
It made sense. Building a snowman was also what I had looked forward to the most. A relatively substantial pile of snow had accumulated in an otherwise empty corner of the parking lot, so I got to work. My first snowman was probably around a foot tall, with pieces of a dry leaf for eyes, and another leaf for a hat (or maybe a toupée?). I was quite proud of him.
I decided to go walking on my usual route, but at the bottom of the hill, the sidewalk was frozen over. Ice is way slipperier than I thought it would be. I don't know why I thought that was a myth. Maybe it's because skaters look like they get traction? Who knows. I gave up and walked back home after trying a few wobbly steps.
I still had a fantastic time. The energy was almost indescribable. I think the magic of such an unusual natural event inclines you to think that anything could happen. I've felt similar things during eclipses. People seem much more willing to start conversations with strangers, much more willing to see something new and wondrous in their surroundings. If the sun can go dark, if it can snow this far south, then what else? What else is not what it seems?