They Say it Never Snows in Salem

Before moving to Northwestern Oregon, they told me it would rain all winter and I would hardly see snow.  I got new rain wellies and put my snow boots at the back of my closet.  But then, the weather has not been typical this year:

Winter on Waln Drive SE. February 2014.

The snow started three days ago, and it continues.  The grey sky is like a rug being gently shaken, dispelling lint and pieces of collected debris that could just as easily be stardust if you look at it in the right light.  Lacy leaves of snow waft down, adding to the dense layer that already covers the landscape.  The roads are not distinguishable from the sidewalks or the fields.

Chevrolet. February 2014.

The first day the snow started I got stuck on my way home from work spinning my car's tires at a stop sign on a sloping incline at the T in the road.   I put the car into a lower gear, tried again.  Spin. Spin. Spin. I put my hazards on as several four-wheel drive vehicles went around me with no second glance my way.   A car pulled up right behind me so I couldn't back up and get another start.  Another car pulled beside me in an attempt to go around; his tires started spinning too.  I wasn't sure what to do.  I listened to my hazard lights click on and off.  A group of about 7-10 teenage boys, throwing snow at one another and kicking snow in white clouds in front of them on the sidewalk, ran across the street to my window.  I rolled it down halfway.

"Can we help you?  We could push your car."

"I don't know," I said, feeling overwhelmed.

They walked over to the other car, and after a short conversational exchange with the driver, got behind  the car and strained their arms pushing against it, feet pumping behind them.  They pushed his car up past the stop sign onto flat ground.  They ran back to the opposite side of the street to get out of the way of oncoming traffic.  Then they ran back over to me.

"Want a push?" They asked.

"Okay," I said.

With the backing of a group of teenage boys, my car was pushed to traction. "Thank you!"  I yelled out my open car windows.  "Thank you!" "Thank you!"

I thought I heard some of them say "You're Welcome," as I drove along my way. I wanted to stop and hug them all, but didn't dare for risk of getting stuck again.  I told one of my friends the story later, and about how I almost cried with thankfulness as I continued along the road.  I didn't have any other troubles with the rest of the hills back to my house.  She said, "Never underestimate the kindness of strangers."  My husband, the best husband in the world, went outside in the dark and chill that night and put snow cables on my car for the next commute.

Snow on Pinecones. February 2014.

I wasn't able to properly thank those teenagers for their assistance, but yesterday I was able to help take someone else to work (with the help of my tire cables), and bring them home again.  With my husband, we helped another girl de-tangle and install her chains.  The most difficult part was trying to interpret the poorly-written instructions for her tire-chain installation.  Then we assisted another girl as she attempted to put tire cables on her vehicle. 

When the roads are as icy as they have been, when we remember we are all stuck in the snow away from the warmth of our homes in some way or another, then we remember to pay it forward.

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Today I didn't drive anywhere, I went for a walk instead.  There were no shoveled walk-ways, just me and my knees pulling higher than normal as each foot sunk into a foot of snow and was pulled back out into a forward motion that probably resembled a Sasquatch swagger.

I love how a snow-covered landscape brings new things to my attention:  The way a tree bough leans over the sidewalk, the slight rise and fall of the elevation of a field and how it isn't as flat as it originally appeared, the stark color and texture of the dried thistles against the snow along the roadside.

Winter near Waln Creek. February 2014.

I took a rounded corner, crossing a creek, and found myself ten feet away from a Great Blue Heron.  It stood there, regal and graceful, keeping one eye on me as it walked further up the current of the stream.  My breath caught instantly, and I was so excited by the encounter I almost dropped my camera when I tried to pull it out of my pocket.  I have been lucky as herons have shown themselves to me on many occasions, and I never get tired of watching them hunt, walk, fly, and even stand motionless in the present, still and quiet, ancient and cautious.

Great Blue Heron. Waln Creek. February 2014. 

When I got home from my walk, my hair was matted with wet balls of snow.  My pants were wet from my knees down to where they met my boots.  My fingers were frozen, but I was refreshed.  Yes, they say it never snows in Salem, but when it does, it does it right.

Winter Thaw. Salem, Oregon. February 2014.