Loran Smith: Snow memories are special memories

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Loran Smith: Snow memories are special memories

Loran Smith: Snow memories are special memories
Loran Smith

With it snowing in Tybee, Darien, the Marshes of Glynn and Jekyll’s “Driftwood Beach,” in the last fortnight, I was concerned about my friends on the Georgia coast, their boats, their exposed pipes, and their winter gardens.

Mostly, I needed assurance that Uga, the University of Georgia’s heralded mascot had a chance to frolic in the white stuff without harm or hindrance.  

 

 

 

 

A call to the Seiler family confirmed all is well with the most famous canine in our state and that he enjoyed padding around in Savannah’s most recent snowfall of 2.5 inches.

That conder brought about a research venture.  The Internet disclosed that Savannah had 1.8 inches of snow in February 1895.  That was 38 years before Frank Wilkins (Sonny) Seiler, patriarch of the Uga dynasty, was born.  Long before the first St. Patrick’s Day parade in Chatham County and before Gen. James Edward Oglethorpe supped with Tomochichi.

Savannah went from February 1899 to February 1968 without recorded snowfall.   That was 69 years of no pipes bursting, no car wrecks due to inclement weather, and no snow men dotting the landscape.  

 

 

 

 

That made me wonder just how far south in North America has snow been recorded and learned that it once snowed in Homestead, Fla., which is 38 miles south of Miami.    Ripley might not believe it, but it snowed in the Bahamas in 1977.   I didn’t check but am certain there are no snow blowers and snowplows in the Caribbean.

In my lifetime, I only remember one snowfall in Middle Georgia where I grew up.  It would have been in the early fifties and didn’t last more than a day.  We tried to build a snow man, but it was too challenging.  It was more slush than snow and a snow man made from slush is downright depressing.

When I began traveling to the West Coast, there were opportunities to visit places like Lake Tahoe, Park City, and Snowmass.  I became fascinated with the landscape of white power.  I never became a fluent skier, preferring to glide down the green slopes, at my own pace and inhale the beauty of the mountains covered in snow.  I never wanted to be a mogul acrobat anyway.

Skiing vacations became the ultimate winter experience.  With early morning wake up habits, I can recall in my mind’s eye arising at 4:00 a.m., Mountain time, fixing a cup of coffee, starting a fire and reading a good book.  The inspirational solitude made you aspire to think good thoughts and want to do some good for the world.   Solitude, depending on the setting, can be a soul cleansing emotional treasure.

With a computer and the Internet, you could get a day’s work done by breakfast.  Then by mid-morning you are riding the chair lift to the top of the mountain, surveying the Rockies and offering thanks for what Mother Nature can do.  (You set aside those reminders of what happens when Mother Nature gives you the back of her hand.)

When it is time for lunch and you ski into a restaurant, there is the greatest emotional lift to select a window seat, survey the mountainside, and monitor the multi-colored skiers having fun as they cavort down the mountain.

A hamburger and a light beer with crisp French fries refuel you for the afternoon on the mountain.   Then comes that last run down the slopes and you become exhilarated taking off your ski boots.   After a couple of days skiing, taking off those boots at the end of the day is something you look forward to.

Then you spend time in a warm jacuzzi to be followed by an early dinner.   Suddenly you are emotionally fulfilled as you realized you have had the greatest of days.   Snow memories are special memories.

 

 

 

 

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