I’ve mentioned here before that I spent my childhood in the north of England until, a few weeks after my twelfth birthday, my parents opted for a brighter, sunnier Australian future for my two younger brothers and me.  I only returned to England twice during my teens but more than four decades later I can still clearly remember those cold winter days when the gloom stretched into mid-morning and drew in again by mid-afternoon.  I walked quite safely to and from my primary school and often made the trek both ways in a weird kind of daytime darkness.

Cold, damp days and nights and seemingly endless rain and wind stretched on for ages – the old gag from that part of England was, “It only rained twice this week; the first time for three days and the second time for four days.”  But when it got really, really cold the skies released a soft, white blanket of snow that magically transformed the working class streets and terraced houses. Everything looked prettier under a silvery mantle and the dazzling reflection from the snowy carpet literally brightened the days.

In possession of youth, along with its incumbent fearlessness, snow drifts were to be revelled in, not respected for their ability to take our feet from under us, or wreak havoc with a car’s hold on the road.  It would be easy to end this memory journey on a high note right here but the story continues:  after a few days, the temperature would rise enough to allow a partial thaw and suddenly we were traipsing through increasingly grubby looking slush that infiltrated our footwear and turned our clothing sodden.  A further cold snap would then set the half melted mess into icy furrows which were impossible to navigate with any confidence at all.

These recollections have done nothing to diminish my romantic excitement at the thoughts  of snow.  A few years back we visited Geneva in February, just for a few days – a  business trip for the MOTH that I was lucky enough to accompany him on.  Our last full day was free of obligations and, being a lover of all things railway, the MOTH had discovered a wonderful little electric line that ran from Nyon on the Lake Geneva shoreline (cue Deep Purple!!), to a tiny place called La Cure on the Swiss-French border.  We woke early, showered and dressed warmly and when we opened the blinds were delightedly shocked to find snow drifting past the window and transforming our previously unremarkable suburban view into a scene from a Christmas card.  The highlight of that day was reaching La Cure and finding the snow had settled into a ten centimetre covering all around.  I had a marvellous time stamping around in it and making footprints, watching my breath appear in little puffs of mist and admiring the sight of our beautiful red train resting at the station, against the stark white backdrop.  A delicious fondue washed down with a local red, in a warm and cosy log-cabin restaurant on the border, rounded out the experience.

Waiting train at La Cure, Switzerland

Our return to the Ballarat area last year invoked all kinds of cautionary warnings from friends and family.  “Ballarat is so COLD!” they exclaimed.  “We know,” we replied.  “We’ve had our fill of perpetual, steamy summer and can’t wait to savour four seasons again.”  Besides, we have an excellent central heating system and when the weather’s really inclement we just batten down the hatches and watch it from our cosy living room, a good book and a hot cuppa on hand.

The MOTH’s dry creek bed is transformed – beautiful!!

One morning last month, the MOTH woke me in the darkness that is a winter’s morning at 5.30am, with a hot cup of tea and the news that I might like to get my camera ready for when daylight arrived as the forecast snow had turned up overnight and the layer it left was sticking around!  Fortified by the hot drink and wrapped in layers of warm clothing, we ventured out with our cameras and smart phones as soon as the first grey light cut through the gloom.  Excited as kids, we tramped through the modest covering and happily spent an hour marvelling at and photographing this great novelty.  I did pause to reflect that our friends in North America and in Europe would have been highly amused by our excitement over such a minor snowfall!  But hey, I wasn’t about to let anyone snow on my parade that day 😉

Now, as we come to the end of winter and we once more edge closer to our favourite star, I’m reminded that I haven’t posted my snow blog.  I want to do this before the harsh summer sun is beating down, making the memory of snow seem highly implausible … and that idea leads me along yet another thought ramble:  we spend much of our lives wishing away the hot weather and pining for a cool change; or impatiently anticipating warmth when the days are chilly.  When we’re busy doing lots of interesting things – blogworthy things – we don’t have time to write them down and post them; and when life offers a gentler pace and we have lots of spare time to write a blog, there seems to be nothing much happening to inspire us.

It makes me think what a contrary lot we humans are.  And I wouldn’t want it any other way 🙂