The Blessing -- yes, blessing -- of Snow

Algonquin Park Tom Thomson 1914

Praise God from whom all blizzards blow, Alleluia!            
 When snow comes down and cold winds blow! Alleluia! 
            Praise God for shovels, gloves, and plows, 
            When four-foot drifts surround your house!
            If more snow falls, Praise for snowballs.
            Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

Linda Bonney Olin 2019

At the risk of incurring your wrath, these cold, sunny days have lifted my spirits immeasurably. Of course I don't have to commute and I'm healthy enough (thank you God) to get outside to shovel and to enjoy.

I have fond memories of Winter in the days of my youth in Southern Ontario. My settlement charge was in outport Newfoundland and it was a pleasure to find a logging road to cross-country ski with Ruth, which she did one year until a few months before the birth of our son.  

We lived in Sudbury in Northern Ontario for eleven years and we would regularly make the hour drive to Killarney Provincial Park where we skied, snowshoed, and climbed up the snow-covered ridges. We would also venture out onto Georgian Bay where when the wind picked up we could hear the groaning of the ice and the loud report of pressure cracks. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. Ruth and I would often take a lunch with a thermos of tea and find a sheltered spot to sit on the pads we brought along to insulate our heinies from the cold. It was sacramental to share a meal in this way, to be very much on our own, embracing the solitude and silence.

All this came to mind a couple of days ago when we took advantage of a fresh fall of snow by skiing at the end of our street, which is the edge of the city. We made our way through the woods and across an open field to a stand of birch on the far side. It was windy enough that snow "wraiths" rose up before us and we listened to the clattering and groaning of the trees.

God was present in that blustery hour, and we arrived home with cold faces yet perspiring with exertion. I might not praise God for blizzards but a fresh fall of snow is a blessing.



March in the Birch Woods Clarence Gagnon 1919