Fantasy of a marvelous snow day in the foothills of Burke

EDITOR’S NOTE: The following column by Editor Emeritus Bill Poteat is pure fantasy – a fantasy only tangentially linked to the forecast for Jan. 11. Such a snow as he describes here is highly unlikely and yet, isn’t it pretty to think of?

As you read this column on Saturday morning, I hope that you are looking out your window on a landscape both whitened and quieted by an embracing blanket of snow.

As you turn your eyes skyward, I hope that your vision is filled by thousands of snowflakes – big, fat, swirling snowflakes that quickly add to the growing accumulation on the ground.

As you settle your eyes on the deepening snow – at least 4 inches fallen, perhaps 4 or 5 more to fall – I hope that you have absolutely nowhere to go and can instead settle back, relish a second or third cup of coffee, and do absolutely nothing.

Later, if you're a mind to and if you have warm boots and jacket, I hope you walk out into the falling snow, whether you live in the hilly countryside surrounding Oak Hill or on a quiet street in Valdese.

Take in all the sights of a world gone white and tranquil.

If you're lucky, you might spy a male cardinal flitting about among the branches of an evergreen, the vivid red contrasting with the green of the branches and with the white of the increasingly heavy snow.

If you're luckier still, you might be granted the precious gift of seeing a big buck deer standing regally in the snow at the edge of the woods, seemingly far more at home in that natural setting than are we.

Take some time to look down as you walk, before your hands start to grow numb and your feet begin to chill into blocks of ice. Can you see the prints of other creatures that have been there before you? Raccoon, possum, or perhaps a fox?

If you have children or grandchildren about, I hope you take the time to play with them on this special day.

Snow — real snow, deep snow — has become such a rare occurrence in the foothills of Burke County that this day should be treated as a golden, fleeting treasure.

Build a snowman with them, if the snow is wet and heavy and sticks together well. Rocks for the eyes, a carrot for the nose, tree branches for the arms, and Grandpa's hat to top it off — if Grandpa will give it up.

Take the time to sled down that tall hill with them, screaming like banshees the entire way. Sure your bones are old and brittle, but the snow will cushion your fall.

Tell them the tales of the snows you experienced as a child, particularly of how school was never canceled and you had to walk uphill through shifting drifts just to make it to the poorly-heated schoolhouse.

Let them imagine that you never attended school, save under polar conditions.

If anyone knows the recipe, the middle of the afternoon would be the perfect time for bowls of snow cream.

I can recall my own mother using freshly-gathered snow combined with milk, butter, and sugar but in what proportion, I have no idea.

No snow cream? Then steaming cups of hot chocolate will surely suffice. Made with real chocolate and milk, rich and frothy.

Later, as the brief January day edges toward darkness, I hope you have the chance to be quiet again.

Turn out the lights, stand by a window and watch expectantly as a snow-filled twilight comes slowly on. With luck, the snow is still falling. With luck, it's our heaviest snowfall in years.

If you have a real fireplace, one where logs of hickory and oak can sizzle and pop, then, by golly, what better night to light it?

And, if you have gas logs instead, what better night to turn them on high and gaze for a while into the dancing flames?

A final measurement with the yardstick on the outdoor table before going to bed, perhaps? Ah... an even 12 inches. One solid foot. Now that is a snow!