Having spent the first 22 years of my life in the Midwest (in Wisconsin and Minnesota, no less), snow is not really something I celebrate. More so, it’s just a part of life. When I picture my cozy little home in Green Bay, more often than not it’s covered in thick white frosting. No catastrophic snow events pop out in my mind, but rather how in college I’d bundle up in so many layers to make the dozen block walk to my favorite bar on a Friday nite. No one made a big deal about it; it was just the way it was.
But snow in New York! (19 inches!) I feel like I’m experiencing the magic for the first time! My favorite noodle shop is buried in white, little tree planters lining my street look like fluffy about-to-explode marshmallows had been threaded on to their branches overnite. I stood on my stoop for a good couple minutes, taking it in with the goofiest smile plastered across my face.
Sidewalks downtown (with not much corporate activity) were not shoveled for my trek to the subway, albeit one small trampled path that couldn’t support two walkers. Fancying myself a snow expert (and clad in my wellies), I happily jumped off the trail (Look at me! Look at me! I’m not afraid of this stuff!) to let worried-looking pedestrians pass by. In true New Yorker fashion, not a single person thanked me for my fearless act (let alone smiled or made eye contact). But what do I care! (Well, except that I underestimated the snow’s height, and it turned out to be higher than my knee high rain boots).
On the corner of Grand and Lafayette, a little Chinese boy was rolling around on his belly, as if the streets of Chinatown were now his own personal swimming pool. “Take a picture of me making a giant snowball, dad!” he yelled excitedly as his father snapped away. “Ugh, move away from the garbage can!” His mother called out. A tiny pang of guilt hit, imagining my own snowy childhood days: running around in my giant backyard, my dad pulling us on sled around our suburban cul-de-sac, sledding down the giant snow hill at the elementary school. I didn’t have to worry about garbage cans getting in my way, much less dirty trampled sidewalks, traffic, or even other people.
But this kid was having the time of his life, making snow angels and snowballs right in downtown New York, a block away from the subways and a Starbucks. He was so happy, that it put an extra spring in my soggy-socked step. Nothing’s better than childhood and snow days, regardless if you’re in suburban Wisconsin or downtown New York City.
(photo of the Upper West Side via my co-worker Jess)
