coorie
coorie
The earth is still mostly covered with ice and snow.
To us snow and cold seem a mere delaying of spring.*
Growing up in Ontario, Canada, winter was always my favourite season. Whenever it snowed, I loved trying to catch big, fluffy snowflakes on my tongue. My family home was on a very small road and I was the only girl on Joy Drive so I was destined to become a tomboy. As kiddos, we loved heavy snowfalls; there were no “snow days” at that time, but we’d drag our dads’ shovels into the field beside my house and build huge, complex (maybe that’s just my memory playing tricks on me) snow forts in which we’d play for hours and hours after school. We’d build windows and doors and shelves and furniture, all out of snow.
There was a low point in the field that was usually full of water and, once it froze, we’d shovel it off, lace up our skates and play hockey. The scores were always high because no one ever wanted to play goalie, which merely made our antics all the more hilarious. We’d stay out, oblivious to the cold and wind, ’til the street lights came on, we could no longer see the puck and our mums were bellering at us to come indoors. It was a constant source of amusement and frustration to our dads that we’d happily shovel the ice for hockey, and shovel huge piles of snow to build our forts, yet they’d have to nag and threaten allowances for us to clear our driveways.
…a regular snowstorm has commenced, fine flakes falling steadily, and rapidly whitening all the landscape. In half an hour the russet earth is painted white even to the horizon. Do we know of any other so silent and sudden a change?**
As a young girl, I loved wandering into the field when no one had yet trampled the snow, when it was smooth, pristine and deep enough that I could flop down on my back and make snow angels. There were always and only three, all facing the road - Mum, Dad and me. It was in those moments that imagination soared, that the rest of the world ceased to exist - it was quiet and peaceful. Gosh, I loved those interludes.
But that was then, more years ago than I care to share. Now, I loathe being cold. I relish being snug indoors, cosy. Fire blazing. Hot drink at hand. I coorie. A lot! Mind, well-muffled, I do love getting out for a walk in the crisp, clean, winter air. Always, of course, with my camera - to capture the winter wonderland glories mother nature gives us.
’Til next time, y’all…
Coorie, a Scots word, means to snuggle/cuddle/nestle during winter.
*Henry David Thoreau, from The Journal 1837-1861, entry dated March 8, 1859.
**Henry David Thoreau, from The Journal 1837-1861, entry dated November 28, 1858.
