We have been watching the snow fall in Steamboat from the east coast. The folks there are rejoicing as feet of snow fall from the sky each day.
Each time I remember that much snow falling, I am simultaneously jealous and relieved. Snow, in that quantity and in those temperatures, falling swiftly and softly; that snow covers everything with a deep layer of powdery fluff. Walking on it, your shoes squeak with each step as the little grains of snow rub together without melting, but that’s the only sound. As the snow descends, it muffles everything else, turning the world silent. Once your nose stops being shocked by the cold, the air smells of a sharp ozone, like the smell of rain except frozen, with hints of wood smoke and pine.
Snow also means trudging with the dogs through the swiftly narrowing roads, dodging cars and the occasional city snow plow. And do you realize just how cold it has to be for those flakes not to melt when you step on them? Negative temperatures for most of the day! Over our last winter, each time the snow fell, I looked out the window and knew that we had to get out and move those feet of snow, at home and at work and, at least once a season, off of the roof. Driving meant using every skill I had (thank goodness for that class from the Bridgestone Winter Driving School!) to just stop the car at a stop sign, never mind navigating a crowded parking lot or our short main street at rush hour. Oh yes. When you live in a place where snow gets measured in feet instead of inches, snow days don’t happen. No one rushes to the store for bread and milk because the assumption is that the store will be open and you will be working and the children will be at school – and that assumption is completely true.
The relief that fills my soul as I watch the pictures and videos of the gorgeous snow falling and knowing that I don’t have to move it or help move it or coordinate moving it can not be measured. I want to shimmy across our sort-of-green lawn and boogie in the living room. I can’t help it.
However, right now, we are still coordinating the removal of snow from our driveway and walk so our contracted house buyers (at least until we actually close next Friday) can access the house. Because we had fabulous neighbors in our amazing little neighborhood (seriously, we lived on the best street in town), our neighbor has been plowing our driveway and walk.
And he won’t let us pay him.
Luckily, I have a way around this because I have knitting skills. So, as Stephanie texted him yesterday to say thank you, thank you, THANK YOU! for plowing, I said, “Ask him about his shoe size. I’m going to knit him a pair of slipper socks just for this snowstorm.”
And, even though he refuses any payment, he texted back his shoe size.
Because no one is strong enough to refuse the promise of handknitted socks.
Once I got on the slipper sock path, I couldn’t help myself. I walked directly out to the car and drove to my local yarn store here to pick out my yarns for my pattern.
Three colorways of Malabrigo Rios (Clockwise – Plomo, Paris Night, and Azul Profundo) and one creamy skein of Cascade 220 later, I returned to cast on. My fingers flew with inspiration and I swatched up this little sample.
What do you think?