An Alaskan Winter in New England


It is a true test of patience and endurance when you have to excavate your house from 60 inches of snow in just a few weeks, while handling stir-crazy kids who are racking up the snow days. Every time we go outside, it’s like preparing for an Everest expedition and there is a constant puddle that has taken up residence by the back door. Gloves, boots, hats, and snowsuits are strewn everywhere and on more than one occasion, we’ve had to rescue sleds and shovels from the plow coming down the driveway.


Despite the rising tensions ringing in the air around me, I found something incredibly glorious, even amidst our snowmageddon.

I had gone out to shovel the wood pile and when I stopped to take a break, I just drop the shovel beside me and fell backward into the snow. As the cold seeped through my clothes, cooling down my core, I remained motionless. Soft flakes gently freckled my face and a subtle wind blew just enough to refresh me. All was peaceful and quiet, with the faint crispy crinkle of the snow falling as the only sound. For just a few moments, I laid there and was as still as that tiny portion of world around me. I forgot about my sore muscles and all the work that still needed to be done, about the cabin fever setting in and the pending storms that would follow this one. In those precious minutes of rare solitude and true calm, I stopped fretting over where to put all that white mess and stopped asking if it would ever stop.


It was in that fraction of time that a simple, innocent thought popped into my mind
“Wow…It sure is beautiful out here and I’m so grateful I am alive to experience it!”

If you can’t change your context, it sure does help to change your perspective.


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