First Snow of 2022

The silence of the falling, sticky snow is shattered by limbs creaking, crashing in the woods with a loud thud, a collective sigh of nature burdened by the heavy, pristine white blanket. The trees look like white giants with droopy arms dragging the ground.

It is the first snow of winter and of 2022, eight inches accumulation so far, and still falling hard. The hawkish wind is blowing it sometimes sideways, drifting in sudden gusts a few inches that fail to remove any significant amount of snow, already stuck like glue to the ground and on all horizontal surfaces no matter how small.

Yesterday it was so warm that we wore short sleeves and ran the air conditioner briefly. I am now dressed like storybook Nanook of the North, in heavy wool sweater, thankful for the cozy heat from the twenty-first century’s furnace.

I am no longer freezing inside in flannel pajamas, wool pants, sweater, coat, gloves, and boots as I did during the communist regime when steamed heat, hot water, and electric or gas heaters were things only the loyal party members enjoyed on a constant basis in wintertime. So much for my white privilege.

The windchill is at 22 degrees Fahrenheit and I am praying that electricity will stay on, as our Marxist politicians in Washington, D.C. have been pushing their green globalist agenda with reliance on erratic “green” energy from wind and solar. Right now, the wind is blowing but there is no sun. Fossil fuels and wood are what people can rely on dependably. I hope there is enough stored electricity with Dominion Power and the falling trees do not knock down any powerlines.

We are cutting down trees at alarming rates to make shipping boxes for an economy that has been forced from brick-and-mortar stores to home delivery due to the flu fearmongering broadcast non-stop on mainstream media, frightening people inside their homes for almost two years now. Hiding and cowering in fear has turned the American population into voluntary prisoners inside their own homes.

The roads in our neighborhood are impassable and nobody has come out yet to shovel their driveways, nor are there any road plows in sight to clear the roads. The schools closed yesterday, and people wondered if it was wise to do so after two years of students learning nothing at home except how to play new online games, but people realize today with a sigh of relief that meteorologists were right this time. The popular saying, even broken clocks are right once a day, fits this weather forecast.

During my childhood, children would have already been outside, sledding, skating, building snowmen, having snowball fights, however painful with wet snow, and squealing with joy and occasional pain from injury. By the end of the day, when the streetlights came on, and they went home reluctantly, their clothes were wet and frozen stiff on their bodies. The children of this current generation are snug inside, staring at a blue screen all day, getting their exercise surfing the television channels or their electronic devices, still dressed in their pajamas. They are weak and pampered and would be unable to survive the elements outside for any length of time.

Welcome to 2022

A snow day from the past and a foraging deer
Photo: Ileana Johnson

It’s finally 2022 and humans are making resolutions for the New Year, leaving behind 2021, the year of Fright and Flu. A saturating rain is drenching the woods. The distant river is shrouded in a greyish fog, concealing the silhouetted trees with exposed skinny branches stretched to the sky but meeting half-way the low ceiling. The animals appear in hiding, save for a few chirping birds and the occasional sparrow.

A bag of peanuts in the shell is awaiting by the door. It’s too wet to trudge through the mud to feed the two resident squirrels, my treat for them for the new year. They are going to have to wait until the rain stops and make do with their daily foraging. They hid enough acorns in my flower beds to keep them for the winter.

I open the windows to air the rooms out – a European habit many Americans dislike – why waste a perfectly warm and cozy room and fill it with cold and humid air?

The neighbor’s Christmas lights are still on, twinkling, casting a reddish glow in the rain.

A foghorn blew on the distant river. Who was brave enough to take out a boat in this weather? Perhaps a duck hunter. I am not sure hunting ducks is in season yet.

On the first Sunday in January, that is tomorrow, the January firearms deer season begins and ends on January 31. One half hour before sunrise until one half hour after sunset, my deer family will be in grave danger. The required fluorescent orange and fluorescent pink clothing will be easy to spot by humans among the shades of brown in the woods. The deer can see yellow, blue, and grey colors but are not very sensitive to dark and bright colors like orange, pink, red, and black.

The woods are quiet, only silent to those unable to hear its pulse. It is alive with sound and dormant fall colors. Last night creatures went into hiding, frightened by the celebratory fireworks that continued way into the morning.

The rain drips off the roof, cleansing the driveway and making it more difficult for the squirrels to dig out their nuts.

The Canada geese are sleeping at the edge of the pond, huddled in their flock, small figures in the dim light of the heavy and steady rain.

The streets are empty, humans are still asleep, wrapped in their warm slumber, tired of the night’s revelries.

Welcome to the first day of 2022, another ordinary day in nature – rain and fog, full of life and miracles. Hopefully the Fog, Flu, and Fright will lift this year permanently, letting sun and the truth disinfect the falsehoods.