By Carrie Jacobson

This, then, is winter in Virginia.

It is gray. Dark. Rainy. Raw.

But it is not snowy.

It is not icy.

I am not shoveling.

I am not skidding.

I am not warming up the car for half an hour, and then leaving home an hour early, seeking routes that have no hills. I am not scraping windshields, losing gloves, finding frozen sodas on the floor, worrying about ice-melter and the back steps and the dogs’ paws.

For decades, I loved winter, and I loved the snow. I loved the way white outlined everything, cleaned it all, purified it. I loved the howling blast of a blizzard and the deep quiet of a gentle snow. I loved the sharp air of winter, how the coldest days would freeze the inside of your nose, and bring tears to your eyes. I loved the brilliance of the sun on the snow, and the way it caught the moonlight, making night look like some kind of shadowed day.

I loved skiing, and hiking in the snow and, later, painting it.

But for all that, I don’t miss it. Winter has been painless, here on the Eastern Shore of Virginia. It has been gentle, and soft, and gray.

And if I want real winter, I know where to find it.

 

Tags: Carrie Jacobson, carriejacobson, Eastern Shore of Virginia, oil painting, Wachapreague

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