I was already resigned to not having a white Christmas. Hope flared, just slightly, when the weather forecast showed several inches of snow for Christmas Eve. I tried not to get my hopes up.
Sometime between Christmas Eve dinner and when we started opening gifts in our living room, flurries started falling, and we woke up the next morning to a world covered in white.
I”m not ashamed to admit that I still find something magical and hopeful about a white Christmas. Nostalgia is part of it, without a doubt. But it’s more. The world feels safe, quiet, even serene when it’s blanketed in white. Traffic in our normally busy neighborhood pretty much disappears, and the quiet covers the neighborhood just as tangibly as the snow that caused it.
The garden is under cover now, resting well after a long growing season. It was warm well into November, and as late as mid-December, we had mosquitoes buzzing around us every time we sent into the hoop house. The garden needed this break just as badly as I did. It looked tired, and muddy, and dejected. Snow has the magical ability to make even the muddiest, messiest yard look beautiful and new.
I love the way the herbs catch the snow, and the way snow and evergreen needles just seem to go together. There are few things prettier than a white pine with a dusting of fresh snow. And, oddly enough, snow makes me look forward to gardening again even more. Maybe what the snow is, as far as I’m concerned, is the garden’s annual baptism. It is cleansed, made new, and ready to give again after a good snow. And so am I.
(The gnomes, I think, are less than enthusiastic about the whole thing.)