Winter officially arrived a week ago, early on Wednesday morning, Dec. 21. Winter weather definitely arrived the previous weekend, though, when frigid temperatures and freezing precipitation visited the area. Our official weather reporter posted lows of only 2 degrees both Saturday and Sunday nights. Freezing rain coated our vehicles Saturday evening, prompting a call from one of the elders in our congregation to say Sunday services were canceled. That was followed by about a half inch of snow. Mother Nature was showing us who is boss once again.
The first snowfall always reminds me of "Snowbound,"by John Greenleaf Whittier. The long narrative poem, subtitled "A Winter Idyl," is one of my favorites. Apparently many readers felt the same. It had sold 20,000 copies by the summer after it was first published in 1866. After a heavy snowfall, Whittier wrote of shoveling a path to the barn to rouse the old horse, the chickens and oxen inside. "With mittened hands and caps drawn low, To guard our necks and ears from snow, We cut the solid whiteness through."
The author went on to paint a cozy picture of a fire burning on the hearth, the dog and cat curled up nearby. And, of course, refreshments were available. "The mug of cider simmered slow, The apples sputtered in a row, and, close at hand, the basket stood, With nuts from brown October's wood."
"We sped the time with stories old, Wrought puzzles out and riddles told," he went on. He described Mom, spinning yarn or knitting stockings while telling tales of her early days, and Dad sharing memories of early exploits. The next morning the children delighted in wrestling in the snow, rolling down the snowbanks and throwing snowballs.
After a week had passed, the snowbound family had read and reread their small collection of books and pamphlets. Then the roads were cleared and the carrier brings the village paper to the door. They welcome the week-old news, the records of snow and rain, weddings, deaths and criminals nabbed. Whittier drew praise for his scenes of a fading rural past. The house where the story unfolded, the John Greenleaf Whittier homestead near Haverhill, Mass., is preserved today and open to the public.
Like the characters in Whittier's poem, I treasure my store of reading materials. I'll never live long enough to read all the books and magazines I've accumulated. Reading is really my favorite pastime. I was delighted to discover an article by local author Crow Johnson Evans in the winter issue of "Edible Arkansas." The essay, titled Crow-Eggs, recounts the story of a trip to Mexico and incorporates the recipe for the title eggs. Evans is a talented writer. Pick up a copy of this publication if you haven't already.
Eating is another of our favorite pastimes. One day last week I looked out the front window and saw a delivery truck parked on the street outside. I watched as the driver pulled a box from the rear of the truck, thinking he would take it to the neighbors across the street. Then he headed to our door and I learned that Jim had ordered some food from the smokehouse in New Braunfels, Texas. As he unpacked the box, he revealed packages of smoked ham and peppered pork chops, pastrami, bratwurst, smoked cheese and summer sausage. The next evening, he cut thick slices from a roll of cheddar jalapeno summer sausage and shared a slice with me. I think we're well supplied for snacking if we have another winter storm.
One of the pleasures of this time of year is receiving news from distant friends and relatives. Last week I received greetings from relatives in Arizona with an account of their 50th anniversary celebration this summer and returning to Wichita for a 50th college reunion at Friends University. The writer also told of a rewarding mission trip she recently made to Guatemala.
Susan Holland is a longtime resident of Benton County and an employee of the Westside Eagle Observer. She can be reached by email at [email protected]. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 12/28/2016