Thoughts on being snowbound - part 1.

I think a part of me has always wanted to be snowed in.

It probably originated from watching and reading Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder when I was a kid, where life was governed by the seasons, and there was no arguing with the challenge of snow. It was underlined when in recent years I read Seasons of the Heart by Janette Oke. It is actually four stories in one, all following the life of a young man, Joshua Jones, as he grows into manhood and has to face the big questions about life, love and faith. Joshua's life on the American prairie is split into four stories named for the seasons: Once Upon a Summer, The Winds of Autumn, Winter is Not Forever and Spring’s Gentle Promise. The book on winter may have promised that being snowed-in for months at a time would eventually end with the coming of spring, but I found myself yearning to be snowed in for a season.

To me, it seemed like bliss.

Of course, women still prepared meals for a prairie family, but the rest of the time was devoted to indoor pursuits of reading, sewing, knitting or whatever else could be achieved within the four walls of a cabin. This was slow living – but only made possible if there had been sufficient preparation for winter.

Preparation is everything. 

There had to be enough wood chopped and put by. You couldn’t just duck out to the shops, so food had to be stored up, preserved or bottled, in whatever way it was possible to get you through the winter months. The only thing that was abundant was water! Snow could be collected and used, but it was a long way from the convenience of simply turning on a tap. 

A couple of weeks back, I was thrust in a small way into my own prairie experience. I woke at Bountiful to a completely unexpected world of snowy white wonder. It was the middle of September, the first month of spring, who’d have expected snow? Certainly not the weather bureau! They had predicted storms (didn’t happen), and rain (yes) which was most welcome as I went to bed. I love the sound of rain on the roof, especially during drought. Nowhere was there any warning of snow.

So why was it a ‘prairie experience?’ Not only did I awaken to the heaviest snowfall we have seen on Bountiful since we’ve been there, but what came with it was a power outage. I soon discovered it wasn’t just our property, but widespread to the surrounding towns. Without power I couldn’t charge my phone battery, so I needed to take measures to conserve that. I had to give some thought to how I’d manage, not something I was used to doing in the city.

I’ve written before about the joy of fire, so once again I was grateful for our choice of wood burner. The whistle of the kettle throughout the day was comforting. I had baked bread the day before and I could fry eggs on the fireplace, so food wasn’t a concern.

I was enjoying the simplicity. Simple joys, slow living. It was what was touching me as I read Seasons of the Heart all those years ago, and it was why I was attracted to Rhonda Hetzel’s Down to Earth blog. It’s what stirred a dream in me to be able to switch off, to retreat, for it to be okay to slow down, do slow things, read, enjoy the work of my hands, grow relationships and spend more time with God – all the things that seemed to dwell at the bottom of my to-do list. It was tapping into a desire to disconnect from the rat race, the noise, the clamour, the deadlines, the very things that seem to drive our desires for changes of sea and tree.

Be prepared! My footsteps as I made my way to the wood trailer located under our new carport.  

I knew I couldn’t drive back to Sydney that day. The snow was still coming down, and from what I could see by quickly tapping into the social media feed of our town and surrounds, there were road closures everywhere. In all seriousness, I didn’t mind a bit. I relished the space, the quiet and the white.

God had something to show me and teach me – He never loses an opportunity – and I had no choice but to slow down and listen. I watched a massive gum tree disappear before my eyes as more snow rolled in, and the earth and sky became one.

In those prairie winters that I had read about and seen on screen, there were still demands in those little cabins, but they were predictable, one at a time, planned for. The list of priorities became smaller but vital, satisfying the basic needs of food, shelter and warmth. The need for warmth was always covered, and emphasised the tactile, with blankets, rugs, hot coffee and the ever-present fire. With those taken care of, time was left to just ‘be’. 

And that was okay.

How do you go with time to just ‘be’? It isn’t my strong point.

If I hadn’t realised it already, screen based activities have a way of derailing my time to just ‘be’. I looked at my to-do list, realising the power outage had put paid to the lion’s share of the tasks, due to the large part a screen played in most of them: blogging, checking emails and social media, web research, downloading photos, working on some in-progress articles, listening to a couple of podcasts. I couldn’t watch television either, or sit back with a DVD. The list of things I could do had rapidly diminished with the snowfall, and all I felt was relief and release.

It wasn’t long before I realised that even though I had the means to boil the kettle thanks to the fireplace, the pumps being out of action meant no running water and no flushing toilets. At least I could boil snow if I needed to, but I felt I was getting closer to a prairie experience by the minute.

I work three days a week, so I feel a degree of pressure to fit a lot of things into my other four days. I would often come out of four days off feeling like I had achieved little, and feeling the pressure of the remaining tasks to be done mounting up on the next run of days off. As the snowfall continued outside my window, I wrestled with my to-do list, and the penny dropped … if my satisfaction was tied to the completion of my to-do list, I was constantly putting a hurdle in my way that was unrealistic, because I was just putting too many things on it and then expecting myself to complete them. I’ve already learned in my faith journey that rushing is a trigger point for me, usually indicating a lack of preparation. When I'm rushing, I tend to be ... let’s just say not very pleasant to be around? The truth is, when I rush, I'm downright sinful. Cranky, impatient, demanding, judgmental. The button would more likely be pressed if I was trying to race through an unrealistic list of tasks, increasing the potential for me to go off like a frog in a sock.

Note to self: Is my list of tasks actually achievable? Or am I setting myself up to fail?

I’ve written before about the wisdom that comes when I sit with God and collage what’s on my heart. I have a small collage that sits on my desk, and as I was writing this I was drawn to it again, and there was evidence there of my ongoing wrestle with ‘doing’ versus ‘being’. Underneath a question of “Why am I so out of control?!” (such perfect things come out of magazines!), there was a great piece of advice: If you don’t have time, don’t do more. The things He leads me to cut out and put together!!!  It sounds so basic really, but at 55, I’m still trying to get it. 

I want to aim for realistically achievable in the future, and rejig the tasks that make it onto the list to ensure the bottom dwellers make it to the top, and that I have factored in time to just relax and ‘be’. And somehow, in this fast paced electronic world, I need to have less time looking at screens - not more. 

I'm a work in progress.

The locals tell me that it is not unusual to experience snow on top of our Great Dividing Range as late as October, and even November. Bring it on, I say.

The song that accompanies this post is Blackbird by The Beatles. I chose it because it's the song I like best from their 1968 album The Beatles, more commonly known as the White album. It’s a gentle track, gentle like the fall of snow I could see outside my window.

Tracey ⛄

With thanks to Ximente’s YouTube channel for Blackbird, attributed to the 1975 Wings Over Australia tour by Paul McCartney and Wings.