Winter Memories
I lived the first 23 years of my life in Schenectady, New York. Located 150 miles north of New York City, my h
ometown was in the heart of the Snow Belt. The average annual snowfall total was over 90 inches. Through my eyes as a child, snow was a wonderful gift of nature, not the nuisance it later became, but something to be embraced and enjoyed. Snow meant fun and adventure. One of my earliest memories was of being pulled on a sled as my mother walked to a local shopping district six blocks away. In the days before salt was used, streets and sidewalks were plowed or shoveled but slick with packed snow and ice. Sleds and toboggans were the best means of transportation.
No salt also meant large snow banks, ideal for constructing forts and tunnels; the entire neighborhood, populated by many children, became a patchwork of fortifications and enclosures. Our parents were unaware of some of the longer tunnels because we hid the entrances with large balls of snow. I wore wool mittens that quickly became soaked with icy water, but whatever discomfort I felt was minor compared to the joy of building wonderful creatures and structures in the snow. Snowball fights were frequent, but short-lived. We older kids were mindful of our younger playmates.
Winter meant Christmas – that most magical of holidays. Christmas lights and outdoor decorations were, of course, their most beautiful in the snow. Giant icicles, which glistened in the sun and in the lights at night, hung from all the houses.
Our family always had real Christmas trees. Some years we drove to Saratoga County to cut our own. The most beautiful tree of all was a Blue Spruce we cut when it became too large for our small front yard. Our dog, a feisty dachshund, became tangled in the light cords one year and pulled down the tree. We tipped it back, picked up a few broken ornaments, and had a good laugh.
Our family celebrated Christmas on the 25th. We attended an early morning dawn service at First Methodist Church, a large congregation located downtown. Church was a part of my life for as long as I can remember, through high school. There was a live nativity scene in front of the altar. I was thrilled one year to portray one of the shepherds. I wore a long robe, a gray beard, and carried a curved staff. The service consisted of singing traditional Christmas carols; the lyrics were projected on a back wall using large glass slides. We sang verses that I remember hearing only on Christmas morning.
Becky and I now celebrate with our son and grandchildren in Waukesha, Wisconsin. The cold and snowy weather is guaranteed to conjure memories of winters past. We join the family for Christmas Mass on the afternoon of December 24 at St. Mary’s Catholic Church. This has become a new tradition. We embrace Christmas as a special time of hope, rebirth, joy, and gratitude.
I have shared my personal spiritual and life journeys in these monthly columns. Thank you for affording me this opportunity and for your kind encouragement and support. I extend best wishes for a joyous holiday season to each and every one of you.
Believe in Peace,
Be Peace,
Create Peace,
Chuck Elston