Originally Published 11/11/2011
Photo Source: Marion Post Wolcott
The snow started gently around 10:00 AM and ended gently around 5:00 PM. In between it was a heavy, driving white-out snow, the kind that meant business. I spent the day stoking the fire and listening to reports on the radio. Mother made cider donuts on the stove, and we found a program of Christmas music.
It was fairly quick work to clear the driveway, as our neighbor, Tom Stoddard, came along with his tractor and Walter snow plow. We invited Tom in for supper, but he refused and set off to plow out the rest of the world. Had a quick supper of franks and beans, fed the cattle, then set out for town, as we were out of liquor, lard and stationary. The roads were passable, thanks to Tom, and I had no problems making the short drive.
After getting provisions, I decided to show myself the town. There is something of an evening in a small New England town after a day of snow that stirs me like nothing else. The temperature drops and the night turns bitter cold, the nostrils burn, the moon pops out and the fresh snow twinkles like diamonds against the lights of storefronts, street lamps and automobiles. Passers-by, freshly liberated from the day of imprisonment, carry gay greetings and good tidings, and the world, so troubled by the happenings on the war front, seems as right as it should be again.
I walked along the main street, back and forth, seeing the sights and greatly enjoying the new world. These are the things I keep for myself: the crunch of the fresh snow under my feet, the soft glow of candles and the smell of balsam, the joy of being out and about after such a long day of being snowbound, the muted sound of autos and the feel of peace on earth during these dark days… These are the things I treasure.
I came home, mixed martinis and listened to Bing on the Kraft Music Hall. A perfect New England winters evening after a perfect New England winters day.