Jeffrey, this is a gorgeous homage to snow. I love your mother's "It'll end in tears." (I might have to steal that for a poem, with credit, of course.) I sat with the image at the top of your post for a bit; my, it's so beautiful. And the quotations from the books you've read perfectly complement your words.
This is the kind of post that moves me to go about my day fully in joy and wonder, no matter what is going on outside in the world.
Another lovely essay, Jeffrey. As someone who grew up in a place that takes much of its self-identity from the presence of snow, it is a delight to see it from the nuanced perspective of someone who speaks so eloquently of it through the lenses of literature, culture, geography, and personal history. You continue to regard the world with curiosity, to synthesize brilliantly, to make it new.
Because of the cruelty and horror that my beloved city has endured this winter, I am having a hard time separating tragic events from the landscape of wonder I am so used to seeing. It breaks my heart to think of the violence visited on my home by the appropriately-named ICE. Reading your words has brought me back to the pristine stillness of a time I hope will not become only memory.
Mary, it's hard to find the words to describe the woes that have beset your city this winter. So I borrow words from Peter Porter's poem “Anger”, which ends, struggling to define his feelings, with these words:
“Colouring
the air and scattering
flakes of fury.“
It's from his collection “Living in a Calm Country,” which I hope one day will become a description of your own state.
Despite our current over-abundance of the stuff, this essay made me fall in love with snow all over again. And, although I cannot claim to be a "proper" birder, the very lovely Japanese Mejiro depicted here resembles our Canadian Vireo, also with a white eye. (And vireo means "I am green" in Latin so perhaps there's a connection?) Loved the sensitivity of this piece Jeffrey and especially the Mary Oliver poem. Thank you!
Thank you, Sue! I understand them to be similar but not directly related. It's posisble she was writing about a vireo? But in any case, in my mind as I read Oliver's lovely words, they became the same bird.
My third trip to Tokyo was in a snowy January. I ran out of the Karate dojo barefoot through the streets, shouting "Wa" Shai" with the rest of the Karateka before 0700! Oh joys. Followed every training session with breakfast at Denny's.
Love the beautiful photos, and as always the literature referenced! I also have a very special relationship with snow—from everywhere I lived and visited, but the place I was born. 😊
BTW, the pretty bird in the photo I think is a white-eye (Zosteropidae), and the flower is 腊梅， winter sweet (Chimonanthus praecox), my favorite winter flower, so delicate and fragrant!
In 'A Daughter of the Samurai, Etsu Inagaki Sugimoto begins with her childhood memories of winters in the north-west province of Echigo, where they prepared for the deep snow of winter by making sheltered walkways, since the streets would become filled with snow to the tops of houses. I often think there is a cultural difference of perception between those places that have occasional snows in winter, just enough to wet the appetite, and those places where snow becomes the landscape for many months in winter, until one becomes jaded with the sight.
I think you're right, Holly. Snow Country in Japan digs in for long periods of snow. Cities like Tokyo dabble with it, showing panic (when the trains stop) and joy (at the beauty of it) in equal measure.
Your experiences with snow are truly captivating! The unexpected snow in the Alps must have been both exhilarating and a bit daunting, especially with the sudden weather change.
Jeffrey, all of this is so lovely--your childhood memories braided in with art and nature. Beautifully done!
I found this and thought of you. Maybe you already know it . . .
"Gray skies and December lights are my idea of secret joy, and if there were a heaven, I would expect it to have a lowering violet-gray sky . . . and white lights on all the trees, and the first flakes just falling . . ."
So many marvelous memories, references, and visions, and that luminous close. Believe it or not, in Los Angeles, if one lives north or east of the L. A. "basin" -- in DTLA, for instance, there are in winter the same kinds of views of snowcapped mountains.
Our childhood memories meet here:
'For us as children, snow meant huge drifts to play in, snow holes to dig and crawl into like luminescent caves, or snowball fights when sometimes things got out of hand and would vindicate one of my mother’s cherished pessimistic predictions: “It’ll end in tears."'
I never felt cozier, more protected and cared for than when, as a very small child, my mother welcomed me in from the grand adventure of the cold and snow to be unbuckled, warmed, and dried.
Enjoyed this, Jeffrey. My favourite memories of the snow are from holidays in The Alps - travelling up first thing in the morning to the highest slopes. The cold air, the early-morning sunlight reflecting off the blankets of white, the silence. ✨️❄️
Jeffrey, this is a gorgeous homage to snow. I love your mother's "It'll end in tears." (I might have to steal that for a poem, with credit, of course.) I sat with the image at the top of your post for a bit; my, it's so beautiful. And the quotations from the books you've read perfectly complement your words.
This is the kind of post that moves me to go about my day fully in joy and wonder, no matter what is going on outside in the world.
Thank you, Maureen! I'm deeply touched by your kind words and by the thought that this post might bring some joy. We all need it!
Another lovely essay, Jeffrey. As someone who grew up in a place that takes much of its self-identity from the presence of snow, it is a delight to see it from the nuanced perspective of someone who speaks so eloquently of it through the lenses of literature, culture, geography, and personal history. You continue to regard the world with curiosity, to synthesize brilliantly, to make it new.
Because of the cruelty and horror that my beloved city has endured this winter, I am having a hard time separating tragic events from the landscape of wonder I am so used to seeing. It breaks my heart to think of the violence visited on my home by the appropriately-named ICE. Reading your words has brought me back to the pristine stillness of a time I hope will not become only memory.
Mary, it's hard to find the words to describe the woes that have beset your city this winter. So I borrow words from Peter Porter's poem “Anger”, which ends, struggling to define his feelings, with these words:
“Colouring
the air and scattering
flakes of fury.“
It's from his collection “Living in a Calm Country,” which I hope one day will become a description of your own state.
Thank you, Jeffrey. 🙏
Despite our current over-abundance of the stuff, this essay made me fall in love with snow all over again. And, although I cannot claim to be a "proper" birder, the very lovely Japanese Mejiro depicted here resembles our Canadian Vireo, also with a white eye. (And vireo means "I am green" in Latin so perhaps there's a connection?) Loved the sensitivity of this piece Jeffrey and especially the Mary Oliver poem. Thank you!
Thank you, Sue! I understand them to be similar but not directly related. It's posisble she was writing about a vireo? But in any case, in my mind as I read Oliver's lovely words, they became the same bird.
Loved all your references. Here's my favorite snow-themed painting.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Hunters_in_the_Snow
That's a beauty, David, isn't it? I especially love the flying bird, almost like a small Pterodactyl…
Delightful. Thanks Jeffrey.
Thank you, Matthew
My third trip to Tokyo was in a snowy January. I ran out of the Karate dojo barefoot through the streets, shouting "Wa" Shai" with the rest of the Karateka before 0700! Oh joys. Followed every training session with breakfast at Denny's.
Sounds like a great moment!
Beautiful and magical. And that scene you describe at the end will stay with me for a long time.
Thank you, Kimberly! 🙏
Love the beautiful photos, and as always the literature referenced! I also have a very special relationship with snow—from everywhere I lived and visited, but the place I was born. 😊
BTW, the pretty bird in the photo I think is a white-eye (Zosteropidae), and the flower is 腊梅， winter sweet (Chimonanthus praecox), my favorite winter flower, so delicate and fragrant!
Thank you, Yi! I recall an occasional dusting of snow in Shanghai while I was living there. Nothing more.
Dusting it was, never mounted (pun intended) to anything even remotely poetic or pretty!
In 'A Daughter of the Samurai, Etsu Inagaki Sugimoto begins with her childhood memories of winters in the north-west province of Echigo, where they prepared for the deep snow of winter by making sheltered walkways, since the streets would become filled with snow to the tops of houses. I often think there is a cultural difference of perception between those places that have occasional snows in winter, just enough to wet the appetite, and those places where snow becomes the landscape for many months in winter, until one becomes jaded with the sight.
I think you're right, Holly. Snow Country in Japan digs in for long periods of snow. Cities like Tokyo dabble with it, showing panic (when the trains stop) and joy (at the beauty of it) in equal measure.
Wow what an amazing read this is.
You took me on a journey with your words!!
Your experiences with snow are truly captivating! The unexpected snow in the Alps must have been both exhilarating and a bit daunting, especially with the sudden weather change.
Great writing and felt captivating…
Thank you for your kind words, Aaliya!
Jeffrey, this is so lovely, so evocative!
Thank you, Debbie!
This a wonderful journey through, time and even season with cherry trees. You really do know snow!
Thank you, Leslie!
Jeffrey, all of this is so lovely--your childhood memories braided in with art and nature. Beautifully done!
I found this and thought of you. Maybe you already know it . . .
"Gray skies and December lights are my idea of secret joy, and if there were a heaven, I would expect it to have a lowering violet-gray sky . . . and white lights on all the trees, and the first flakes just falling . . ."
--Adam Gopnik
Thank you, Ann. Those beautiful lines are new to me! 🙏
Oh cool! I’m glad. He did a series of lectures that I think you will love.
I've read some of his essays, so I look forward to reading his lectures.
So many marvelous memories, references, and visions, and that luminous close. Believe it or not, in Los Angeles, if one lives north or east of the L. A. "basin" -- in DTLA, for instance, there are in winter the same kinds of views of snowcapped mountains.
Our childhood memories meet here:
'For us as children, snow meant huge drifts to play in, snow holes to dig and crawl into like luminescent caves, or snowball fights when sometimes things got out of hand and would vindicate one of my mother’s cherished pessimistic predictions: “It’ll end in tears."'
I never felt cozier, more protected and cared for than when, as a very small child, my mother welcomed me in from the grand adventure of the cold and snow to be unbuckled, warmed, and dried.
That’s beautiful, Jay.
A beautiful ode to snow, Jeffrey.
As I so often find myself with your writing, I particularly liked the last line :)
Thank you for reading until the end! 😊
But of course! :)
Enjoyed this, Jeffrey. My favourite memories of the snow are from holidays in The Alps - travelling up first thing in the morning to the highest slopes. The cold air, the early-morning sunlight reflecting off the blankets of white, the silence. ✨️❄️