It was much more than just flurries, of course. It was the second largest snow in two decades and it blanketed our Flower Town. By Saturday morning the recent snowfall edged Summerville into Winterville at its most charming. Cameras clicked, makeshift sleds slid and snow angels spread their wings across the local landscape.
I’ll bet lots of people took outdoor photos of their homes and kids and the snowmen they fashioned to use as Christmas cards next year. Last week’s feathery white cascade gave all of us a look (and to my mind thankfully, a brief look) at not only the beauty of new fallen snow but the not-so-enchanting melting aftermath. Wasn’t it a gift from heaven that it wasn’t a severe storm and that it came on a weekend when families had the best chance to enjoy it together?
Being senior citizens who already spent countless winters in snow country – Jim actually served a whole year in Iceland – we preferred to enjoy this southern winter aberration through a glass brightly.
Our kitchen window revealed a juxtaposition of a rare Lowcountry sight – pindo palm trees bent to the ground with snow. Our three-tier fountain in the back garden looked like a giant triple scoop vanilla ice cream cone. I could see our snow ringed pool through the basket weave brick fence, each brick piped with puffy white frosting. Even better, the whole wonderland scene was reflected upside down in the unfrozen water on the pool cover. Snow can bring out the beauty of the most mundane things, such as a chain link fence at the back of the yard which took on a fragile lacey look with all its triangles delicately outlined in white. The front window views were entirely different, showing mostly tree sculptures with dark, bare winter limbs thickly outlined in gleaming white.
Our youngest grandchildren – who had only experienced snow as toddlers – were as gleeful as only kids can be. They hoped for snow for Christmas and each time it was predicted since, left nose prints on the windows trying to wish it to happen. When it finally came, they made and tossed snowballs almost before the white stuff hit the ground and ecstatically rolled down the aptly named Mt. Crumpet, a petite slope at their aunt and uncle’s home near Azalea Park.
Our dog Buddy, however, was anything but pleased at his introduction to snow. When Jim went to let him out early Saturday morning, he tore through the door at top speed as usual; skidding to a stop at the top of the steps, then turned around and tried to come back in just as quickly. When Jim pointed sternly, the dog reluctantly stepped back outside. Poor ole’ short-legged Buddy literally tiptoed across a yard he was clearly outraged at finding both cold and wet, in an unsuccessful attempt to find a non-snow zone to take care of business. We literally had to shove him outside at intervals through the day.
We appreciate our grandkids’ and our dog’s reaction to the snow – and we share a bit of both opinions. A nice one-day snowfall every 20 years or so is perfect, this couple thinks, to remind use of why we live here in the first place.