Not the Fake Stuff

I had been so wrong about snow! I had never had too much chance to be right about it anyway. The southern area of Houston is not graced with this mysterious phenomenon too often. Snow is what I had seen in movies. Snow is what had fallen in lumps from the sky two Christmas Eves before when my cousins were all over at my house. Snow is what we had scrapped from the cars and readily squashed into dense balls which we hurled at each other for hours. Snow was white and watery and instantly turned to slush when it hit the ground. It was, I imagined, like the shaved ice that my family would get on a hot summer day, just without all the rainbow colors that dyed our lips and tongues.

This pre-conceived idea is what got me laughed at when the first “snow” came to my new home-away-from-home in northern Texas. The stuff was gritty. Sidewalks and grass were covered with what seemed like the most miniature version of hail possible. Frozen H2O had fallen from the sky. It was snow enough for me, which was reason to celebrate! I popped the lids off of my plastic storage bins and my friends and I used them as sleds to go down the mole hill behind my dorm. When I came across my friends from the north, however, they chuckled as I referred to the white grit as “snow.” Over and over, they informed me that this was not even close to actual snow. “When the real stuff comes,” they said, “we will let you know.”

Thankfully, this was not long in the waiting. Just a couple days later, I looked out the window and it seemed like the air had turned into a whirling white storm! Every soul was outside in a minute, relishing the falling snow. Pretty soon, I realized that this was completely different from what had fallen two days before, as well as what had graced Houston a few seasons ago. This new snow was like frozen dust! My mind was completely blown. As it accumulated beneath my feet, I felt as though I was walking through fields of bleached baking flour. I had never imagined it would be so soft. Even more mind-boggling, it seemed to completely lack moisture. Even the coldest snow-cones were wet to a degree. This, however, was dry, and I could not make sense of it.

My efforts to form snow-balls were futile. This cold powder would just fall out of place the moment I released the pressure of my palms. How in the world does it stick? People in movies make snowballs all the time! My northern friends explained that it would be much easier to form snowballs in a day or two. They were completely right. The next day, all I wanted to do was be outside, wallowing in the soft, frozen water and blow time making spheres of it. The whole school seemed to have this same attitude, only with a little more gusto. By midday, World War Three had erupted! At first every-man-for-himself, the game soon changed to pit dorm against dorm. It was all-out war in the courtyards and walkways. For hours we threw, ducked, teamed and schemed until our energy came to an end.

The day was a success. I had experienced real snow for the first time. It may not have been to the same degree as people closer to the poles trudge through, but it was enough for me. I was beyond satisfied. At the same time, it has also awakened in me an eagerness for the future winters. Now that I know what to expect, I can’t wait for the next time we get a real snow.