First Snow

Snow in the lowlands of the Salish Sea is always a fascinating thing.  First is the question of if the snow will come, and when, and how much.  Given our position between two mountain ranges, next to salt water, at the point where the jet stream swings widely north or south, predicting any kind of weather here is challenging.  But when the s-word occurs in the forecast, people want to know when and how much, and that varies wildly from zip code to zip code because there are so many variables, so many microclimates.

How people respond to local snow is interesting.  In my observations, people who were raised here treat the snow as nature's excuse for a holiday, and if at all possible take the day off to stay cozy at home, or play outside.  People from snowier places tend to ridicule the cautious locals, until they try to navigate the steep hills of downtown Seattle and realize that flat, midwestern snowscapes are quite a different animal than snow here.  And those from warmer climates either wisely stay home, or venture forth under the mistaken impression that their large 4x4 or AWD vehicles will protect them from hazardous conditions.  This is another reason that those of us who grew up here tend to stay home if we can!

I would like to describe the regional snow cycle, but the reality of global climate change is that all bets are off.  When I was small, we would regularly get a little snow here before Thanksgiving and after Christmas, but rarely in between.  A big "snow event" meant 4" at out house, maybe 6" up the hill away from the water.  Living right beside the water, snow on my lawn virtually guarantees a lot more snow everywhere else.  I have known many "snow events" in which my house got a lot of cold, slushy rain, but just 100' up the hill snow was sticking to the ground.

The year I began college, we had an unusual snow year that happened to coincide with me taking Atmospherics 101.  During that class I became very familiar with the conditions necessary for a major "snow event" to happen here, because we had one on January 1, February 1, March 1, and even April 1.  This was following a "normal" snow event the preceding December.  Another big snow occurred in 1995, and then there was a long period of mild, warm winters.  The only snow we got for several years is what I call frog snow--snow that occurs around the spring equinox, after the frogs have begun their spring song.  It is usually a wet, slushy snow that doesn't last more than a few hours in the lowlands.  I was beginning to think that climate change had taken snowy winters away from us forever, and that my children would not have a chance to experience snow days.

Fortunately, my fears were unfounded.  A few snows that fit the pattern I remembered from my childhood occurred in 2007, and then 2008 brought what is referred to here as "Snowpocalypse."  Never had I seen snow like that!  It snowed for days and was a foot deep in our yard--unheard of!  Even my dad could only remember one other snowfall of such proportion, some 60 years ago.

Last year was another snow-free winter.  We had cold temperatures, but the specific combination of warm wet air in the south and cold dry air in the north converging over the Puget trough just didn't happen.  So this year I am happy to welcome the snow again, and hopeful that this first fall is a sign of things to come.

It began yesterday in fits and starts, and still now is just dusting the yard, but the water and islands have all taken on a soft-focus, grey velvet look.  There are still bright leaves and chyrsanthemum blooms in the garden, all contrasting beautifully with their snowy garnish.  The winds are supposed to pick up later today, and more snow is expected with them, so if the forecast proves true we should see the water whipped up into a dark froth, wave edges like knapped obsidian rushing southward ahead of the cold arctic air that makes it all possible.

Snow doesn't usually linger here.  It is, to me, a reminder to live in the present and enjoy the serendipitous blessings life brings from time to time.  Whatever other plans I had for today will be set aside to enjoy the snow--gazing out the window at the falling flakes, and walking through the silent stillness that only comes from snow.  It has been a strange autumn, with an early start but somehow without the full feel of the season. Although winter doesn't officially begin for several more weeks, the first snowfall always marks the first day of winter and a special holiday on my personal calendar.