Fire in the Snow

Snow happens.

When cold blows in from Canada, pushed up by warm wind from Texas, snow happens suddenly and furiously.  Only older siblings, big enough to sink only to the knee and then leap into the snow face first, could rejoice.

For two small children, enjoyment was peering out through icy panes and wishing.  Mom…Mom…Mom…Can we go outside, too?  Mom? Mom?  Mom relented only when Mom became unbearable.

Two and four years old, Mary and Bill were wrapped, bundled, booted, and mittened, then given instructions:  Stay on the porch.  Both nodded solemnly.

Mom stood at the kitchen door, staring through the lacy ice crystals at five children enjoying the snow.  Then Bill launched off the porch into deep white sea. Bill, she sighed. 

Stomping out the door, Mom grabbed him by scruff of his coat and pulled him up.  Then Mary whispered, “Mommy!  Mommy!  Look!  Fire in trees!  Fire in snow!”

Fire in the trees?  In the snow?  She beheld glorious cardinals perched in bare trees.  Fiery cardinals with black masks.  Brave cardinals in frigid air.

Mom hollered, “You kids get in here.  Been out long enough!”  But she continued to watch until fire became scarlet birds winging over snowy horizons.  

Fire in the Trees


For those bloggers in the beginning of a long winter, this story is about the snow of 1958, which has been called the mini-ice age.  Keep warm, enjoy the beauty as much as you are able, and Merry Christmas.

Cedar Tree, oh Cedar Tree

Oh, our cedar tree

Christmastree..Christmastree….when will we cut down our Christmas tree?  That question hung in the air until Mom nudged Dad enough to take care of that yearly tradition.

Finally, we climbed up into the bed of the 1946 Ford truck and huddled together in frozen air on frozen metal, and smiled at the very thought of the tree.  THE Tree that would be ours, stood on a white hill watching and waiting for us.  Our Tree we exhaled through icy fogged air.

Powdery, fresh snow stays in my mind even now: stepping and then sinking up to our knees, laughing.  Eagerness kept us warm as we raced ahead of Dad, who strode easily with the ax on his shoulder.  This one?...How about this one?...No!  Look, there is one!

Somehow the perfect tree was always found and Dad cut it down.  Hoisting it up on his shoulder, we carried the starry top, never knowing just how heavy the tree truly was.

Scent of cedar filled the bed of the truck where the tree barely fit, with us tucked around and through it.  We inhaled it cedar air down to our home, laughing all the way.