Blue Ridge Country January/February 2023 - 8

GIFTS OF THE LAND
Snow
Day
Part of the white-day experience is
identifying animal tracks.
Text and photo by BRUCE INGRAM
Stylized by JANETTE SPENCER
Sam, Granddad and Eli marvel at a sign of wildlife left in the new snow.
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8 BLUERIDGECOUNTRY.COM
he forecast is for snow to begin during the wee
hours, and I can't sleep because of the excitement
the day to come will bring. Every hour
or two I awake and peer out Elaine's and my
bedroom window to check if flakes have begun
to fall. Finally around 4 a.m., I look out and
the outline our sidewalk creates in the dark has
disappeared-a sure sign of snowfall.
I rush downstairs,
When the embers
start to die, I insert
a night log and we
head upstairs. It's
been another perfectly
marvelous snow day.
fling open the front
door, and inhale the
icy cold purity of
fresh snow falling.
By the looks of the
stoop and sidewalk,
a solid four inches
have accumulated,
which means that
the Botetourt County,
Virginia, high
school where I teach
will close as will,
more importantly,
the nearby elementary school my grandsons Sam and
Eli attend.
I bound up the stairs, reach our bedroom, and then
become conflicted whether or not to return to bed (as
tradition and my wife demand) or immediately fire
up our wood stove, so it will be, as Elaine says, " toasty
warm " when she comes down for breakfast. My spouse
then makes the decision for me.
" If it's snowing, don't you dare come back to bed, "
she groggily mumbles. " You'll be squirming around and
knocking off the covers. Go start the stove. "
Orders received, I light the fire, and soon the entire
downstairs is suffused with the acrid, yet strangely appealing,
smell of red oak burning. For an hour or so, I alternately
feed the fire and bring up more firewood from
our garage . . . periodically taking breaks to watch the
falling snow.
Around 6 a.m., I fix French toast for Elaine (another
snow day tradition-breakfast in bed), partly as a peace
offering for waking her up, but mostly because she's the
most perfect wife imaginable. I also text our daughter
Sarah, who lives across the hollow with her husband
and their two sons, to let me know when she needs a
break from Sam and Eli, who will be just as hyperactive
because of the precipitation as their grandfather is.
That call comes around 10 a.m. when Sarah confirms
that the boys have already built a snowman and
are ready to move on to another favorite wintertime
activity-searching for animal tracks in the snow. As I
near Sarah and David's house, I espy the boys hiding-
none too well-behind trees and waiting to pelt me
with snowballs. I feign surprise at their treachery and let
them launch a few preemptive strikes before I respond
with a flurry of my own.
A logging road of nearly a mile winds its way around
most of our 38 acres, and the boys and I next go questing
along the pathway. Veterans of several winters of
this activity, both youngsters easily identify deer and
turkey tracks, and I help them distinguish between the
raccoon and opossum ones.
Lunch follows on the agenda: Elaine's homemade
vegetable soup and blackberry cobbler from berries she
and I gathered back in July.
We then say goodbye to the boys and spend the afternoon
alternately reading and napping by the woodstove.
That evening after a spirited game of Scrabble,
played with the aid of lantern light as the power has
now gone off, we cuddle and talk on the couch across
from the stove. When the embers start to die, I insert a
night log (a slab of black locust) and we head upstairs.
It's been another perfectly marvelous snow day.
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Blue Ridge Country January/February 2023

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