snow days are one of those things that make you feel like a kid again.
living in the appalachian foothills, snow has always been a rare and magical occurrence, the kind of thing we wait for all winter, wondering if it will come at all. and when it does, the world stops. and not just figuratively—schools close, roads turn quiet, and time seems to stretch like the pale gray sky overhead. snow days are a gift from the heavens, turning ordinary days into glorious events worth celebrating.
growing up, snow days were everything. i’d wake up to a hushed world, the usual morning noises muffled by the fresh blanket of white outside. my siblings and i would press our noses to the frosted windows, barely breathing as we scanned the yard for proof that it had really snowed. there it was: soft, untouched, and glittering in the dim light of dawn. a sense of urgency would take over us as we scrambled to throw on mismatched layers of clothing—thick hoodies, puffy coats, gloves that never matched. sometimes we’d just go out with our pajamas under our snowsuit. it didn’t matter what we wore. what mattered was getting outside as soon as possible.
since winter in my area has always felt like a duller, chillier version of autumn, any sort of snow day completely transforms the landscape, whether that’s a dusting or a “big snow” of multiple inches. the trees, stripped bare in winter, become delicate sculptures, their branches outlined in white. the small hills roll like frozen waves, untouched, save for the occasional deer tracks. on these rare snow days, we always run out into the yard, our boots sinking into the crunch of fresh snow. there are no rules, no plans. we fling loose snowballs at each other, laughing until our sides hurt, or lying flat on the ground making snow angels, staring up at the pale sky, blinking out the snow that fell in our eyes.
a favorite adventure of me and my siblings has always been trekking through our backwoods, turned a winter wonderland that looks too beautiful to be real. i remember one year, we discovered a frozen pond deep in the woods behind our house. the pond was a hidden treasure, surrounded by tall, ancient trees that seemed to lean in as if protecting it. it wasn’t very big, but to us, it felt like a secret world. we’d test the ice cautiously at first, gingerly stepping onto its surface to make sure it would hold. once we were sure it was solid, the fun began. we’d slide across it, slipping and spinning until we collapsed in fits of laughter. sometimes the ice above the shallow water would crack, causing us to scream then burst out laughing. other times, we’d climb up an angled log frozen right above the lake’s surface, our breath puffing in the cold air, watching the way the ice caught the sunlight like fractured glass.
building things in the snow has always been another tradition we look forward to every year. snowmen are always a classic, but this year, two of my younger siblings decided to aim higher. while i wrapped myself in multiple blankets and read, they were outside, using plastic bins to make ice blocks. by the time i came outside, they’d constructed a full-on snow fort. it looked epic, but i wanted to make it taller. my siblings allowed me to as they ran off to go jump on our icy trampoline.
for the next thirty minutes or so, i walked up and down the yard, gathering snow in the bins and dumping the blocks on top of the snow fort. and when my siblings came back, the snow fort had doubled in height. as my other siblings came outside and gawked at the snow fort, we all decided to go even further. working together, we started making more snow blocks, packing snow into the walls, and reinforcing it as best we could. it took hours, but finally, our snow fort had evolved into a huge, misshapen, snowball-looking igloo. we all sat inside, huddled together, and declared it the best igloo anyone had ever built.
on one side of our house, there’s a little hill since our house sits on a slope. the hill is a decent length, starting near the front of the house and leveling out around the center of our yard. it’s not perfectly steep enough for sledding. but last year, following an amazing snow day, we were blessed with a brief shower of rain. all the snow on the ground became slick and solid. perfect for sledding.
we dragged an old plastic sled to the top of the hill and took turns hurtling down the icy track. we didn’t go very far—maybe fifty or sixty yards—but we went so fast we felt like we were flying. the best runs were the ones where we’d hit a patch of ice and spin uncontrollably, landing in a heap at the bottom, laughing our heads off. sometimes, we’d try to pile onto the sled together, a chaotic tangle of arms and legs that rarely made it halfway down before tipping over or taking a detour into our neighbor’s yard. by the time we trudged back up, our cheeks were red and our gloves soaked through, but we didn’t care. just the thrill of it was worth every scrape and frozen finger.
once we’d drained all our energy carrying the sled up the hill and guffawing the air from our lungs, we’d wander back into the woods. the forest in winter is a different kind of quiet. snow muffles everything, leaving just the sound of birds chirping in the distance and the crunch of your own footsteps. the trees seemed taller, their dark trunks standing out against the white ground. we’d follow the shallow creek, a trail we could always use to find our way back home. but sometimes, we wandered off.
i recall one winter—maybe two or three years ago—where a few of my siblings and i were trekking through the forest, when suddenly our sisters took a different turn than us and disappeared into the snowy void. we were far from the creek and had no idea where the girls went. so my little brother and i just ran around calling for them, feeling desperately lost, when suddenly . . . we ran straight out of the woods, winding up in our own backyard. i almost faceplanted, getting a chuckle out of my little brother. we stared back into the woods which still held our sisters. but then our gaze fell on the distant beige house, and we knew we were home.
by the time the sun began to set, the yard would be a patchwork of footprints, sled tracks, and snow angels, the once-pristine snow transformed by a day’s worth of play. we’d head inside reluctantly, our clothes damp and our noses red. mom would always have hot cocoa waiting for us, the rich polar express kind we always slathered with a bit too much whipped cream. we’d wrap ourselves in blankets, huddling in the living room, and relive the day’s adventures, each story growing more dramatic with every retelling.
but as much as i loved the wild, chaotic fun of snow days, the quieter moments stick with me just as much. wandering into the woods, i’d notice the way the light shifted as the sun filtered through the bare branches, the way the snow sparkled like tiny diamonds. the world felt still and endless, as if time itself had paused to admire the beauty of it all. i’d stand there, watching my breath form little clouds in the cold air, and feel a deep, almost overwhelming sense of gratitude. for the snow, for the hills, for the life i’d been given.
snow teaches you things, even when you don’t realize it. it’s not only about having fun (though, don’t get me wrong, the fun is awesome). it’s about how snow changes everything it touches, turning the ordinary into something extraordinary. it’s about how it brings people together, whether it’s kids building a snowman or neighbors helping each other shovel driveways. it’s about how even the smallest, simplest things—like a cup of hot cocoa or the sparkle of snow in the late afternoon sun—can fill you with joy if you let them.
i remember another time, after the snow had started to melt, i wandered back out to the pond. the air had that sharp, clean smell it gets after a snowfall, and the trees were dripping with the last remnants of ice. the creek had started flowing again, its surface a kaleidoscope of sunlight and ripples. i stood on the edge of the bank, watching the water rush over the rocks, and thought about how fleeting snow really is. winters here may be short, but snow seems to last for no more than a second, melting away as quickly as it comes. and, i think that’s why it feels so special. it reminds me to hold on to the moments that matter—to laugh as hard as i can, to be brave enough to step onto the thin ice, even if it cracks.
even as the years go on, i know i’ll always feel this way about snow. snow is so much more than just frozen water falling from the sky; it serves as a reminder of how magical life can be. it’s the laughter of my siblings as we tumble off the sled. it’s the quiet of the woods, the sparkle of the snow, the warmth of hot cocoa after a day spent outside. it’s the way snow days slow everything down, forcing you to live in the moment, to see the beauty that’s always there if you just stop and look.
so every time the snow starts falling, i’m ready. ready to run outside and feel the crunch of it under my boots, to chase my little brothers across the yard, to build another lopsided igloo that we’ll remember forever. ready for the quiet walks in the woods and the way the world looks different, more beautiful, when it’s covered in white. most of all, i’m ready to soak everything in, every frozen-fingered, rosy-cheeked, snow-covered moment. because these are the days i’ll look back on someday and smile, remembering how it felt to be part of something so simple, so fleeting, and so wonderful.
and when the snow melts and life returns to its usual rhythm, i’ll hold on to those memories, tucking them away like a favorite book on a shelf. because even though snow days don’t last forever, the magic of them does. it stays with you, a quiet reminder to find joy in the momentary things while they’re here, and to always, always make time to play.
i planned to write and publish a post like this in december, but the universe seemed to have other plans since we didn’t get a single snowflake throughout the month. thankfully, last friday, we got a huge snow (huge being like five or six inches 😆). for some reason, i didn’t spend as much time outside in the snow this week; i did lots of reading and such instead. nonetheless, i played outside for a good bit. the pond didn’t freeze over thick enough for us to walk on, but we still had fun making snowmen and, of course, the igloo.
i truly hope you all get to experience snow days like i have (all you northerners probably get snow days for like a fourth of the whole year). every time, it’s an amazing, magical experience that i wouldn’t give up for the world. let me know some of your snow day traditions in the comments; i’d love to hear what you guys do in the ice and snow ;).
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As someone who lives in a place where basically half the year is snow and ice, this is such a beautiful reminder to treasure the miracle of snow. Incredibly writing, as always. ❤️
Really well written - the imagery was spot on and I relived snowy experiences as I read. There truly is something so special about snow. Telling the world to rest and play, and "turning the ordinary into something extraordinary. "