Winter Wonderland / Sandy Summerland

Last night I went camping in the snow covered Rocky Mountains. When I woke up I heard the wind howling hard against my window pane. The light that shines through the cracks between my A/C and the blankets that cover the windows to block out the sun wasn’t its usual bright orange hue. It was dull and gray instead. The temperature of my room was especially cold this morning (my roommate has the crud and has been cranking up the A/C to deal with his night sweats). Amidst this setting I was suddenly taken to a far away place and time…

It was the height of winter in Nazareth, Pennsylvania, and although I knew the electric heaters were working by the sound they made clanging every 10 seconds, a chill still ran through my body as I lied there under the covers. A smile of excitement was on my face when I awoke to the sound of the wind howling against the windowpane of my childhood bedroom on Georgetown road. I knew at that moment that I was going to get out of the bed and when I opened the curtains I was going to see the first snow fall of the season! Sure enough, a full foot of snow had fallen while I slept and since the streets weren’t even visible, I knew school was cancelled for the day. I ran out of my room and to the front door, opening it briefly, almost as if I didn’t believe the vision of this Winter Wonderland through my bedroom window. Sure enough, all of my senses were involved now. I felt the brisk wind blow against my skin as goose bumps formed on my skinny little arms and legs. I smelt the crispness of the air. I saw up close how the snow was as high as my mailbox, and how it came past the first two steps of my porch (which I knew I’d be shoveling later). But what really made it real was the sound of the snow. You see, the sky was dark gray and the snow that was falling now wasn’t soft and fluffy. Instead, the precipitation was made up of tiny crystal beads that were covering the fluff that was already on the ground. The wind was tossing these beads around, making a specific sound as they bounced around on the frozen ground. Yes, this was a snow day at its best! And as I ran back into my room under the covers again, I smiled with excitement, knowing that the day would be filled with homemade chicken soup with those Pennsylvania Dutch fine egg noodles I loved so much, with hot chocolate and extra marshmallows on top that my mom would have ready for me after my sister Kelly and I would be done playing in the snow, or building a snowman, or making snow angels or even shoveling a path from our porch, to our driveway, to the road, so that when Jan came down to play in the afternoon she’d have a walkway to enter. Yep, I knew that in the afternoon Jan and I would trek down to the creek in our boots and try to walk across the frozen parts of it (and inevitably fall through the not so frozen parts). I gave a brief frown as I knew I’d have to bring wood up from the woodpile, but it quickly turned back into a smile when I knew that in the evening we’d light a fire in the fireplace and toast chestnuts on the top of it. I always loved the sound that the wood made when it cracked in the fireplace. It was so much better than the sound the electric heater made. Then just before bed I’d check the weather report to see if maybe, just maybe, this vacation day in winter wonderland could be extended for an additional, although slightly less magical day.

Yep, as I smiled in my cold bunk this morning with the sound of the wind howling outside I let this memory rush into my head. I didn’t want to get up under my cozy covers at all (and in fact I slept in an additional hour). But when I rose and left my barracks room, a couple of replacements had to be made. First, in contrast to the blizzard that I was experiencing moments prior, this was a wicked sandstorm that was howling outside, occluding the sun and making the sky a pale light grey. I stepped outside into it for a brief moment, as if disbelieving it through the windows of the barracks hall. Now the rest of my senses were sentenced to partake in this disgusting sandy plague. What I felt blowing briskly against my skin wasn’t just the wind, it was the sharp particles of sand that were blown up from the wind, cutting into my skin like tiny little razor blades. I took a deep breath to “smell” the morning air but realized this was a fatal mistake as the cilia (tiny hairs) in my nose quickly became overrun with sand and debris and my lungs gave out several unhappy coughs. I looked at the vision before me and saw that the first two steps leading down from the barracks were covered in sand. I felt the heat of the sun and as I looked up through the clouds I could see a glowing hot mass just barely visible through the clouds. I had to look away after a second because sand got into my eyes, letting the razor blades cut at my cornea. What really made this vision real was the sound of it all. Like the sound of the tiny crystal beads of snow in my Winter Wonderland, the tiny sharp razor blades of sand were blowing around, bouncing off each other, creating a similar sound, only this was a bit more harsh, and much less welcoming than the mild pain you’d feel when a little sleet landed on your face. Yep! This was a sand storm at its best! And as I ran back into the protection of the barracks again I frowned, knowing the day would be filled with things like wearing goggles to protect my eyes from blowing debris. I knew the food in the chow hall, like my red square of jello, would be a little grittier than normal. My hot chocolate would be replaced by extra bottled water to keep my scratchy throat from drying out. There would be no “playing” in this storm, and when I got off the bus at work, we’d all run – make a mad dash for the entrance of our building. Yep, I knew everything in my office was going to be covered in a thick layer of sand. The keys of my computer would be sandy, my coffee mug would be sandy, my skin, …sandy. I gave a brief smile as I knew the gym would be the one place whose air might be filtered enough to be clear, but that smile quickly turned back into a frown when I realized that the long walk to and from the gym would be treacherous and wicked. Then, just before taking the bus back to the barracks for the end of the day, I’d check with one of the pilots to see what the weather report would be for the following day, to see if this day in the summer sandstorm would be extended for an additional, and probably even worse, day.

Alas, being the weather buff I am, I loved it anyway and was quietly content with a number that stayed in my head throughout the day…43.