Sunshine Snowfall
We’ve travelled through several realms of weather this past week, or so it seems.
I sat on the sand yesterday as the ocean washed away the old year and ushered in 2022 on the crest of each wave. I remembered all over again why sitting and staring out into the endless blue is just about my favourite aspect of Californian life. It’s been a month or two since I’ve had the opportunity to be beside the ocean. New Year’s Day was the perfect time to revisit the importance of such open moments where all things become new again.
We took a quick overnight trip earlier this week heading north east and entering into a winter wonderland on Big Bear Mountain. Fortunately we struck gold; there had been a huge snowfall the night before. As we climbed towards the summit we drove through the clouds and were enveloped by a different world. Perhaps we’d pushed our way through those fur coats after all. Snow was everywhere; held by the sky above, heaped up in piles all around and weighing down the pine branches of the trees in every direction. The air grew still and magic walked by the side of the road in a gleaming white cloak.
To my daughter, who had never touched the snow before, the brief trip was a sensory experience of utter joy. She threw snowballs, made a snowman and went tobogganing, bundled up in salopettes and so many layers of clothing that she didn’t feel the cold at all and would have happily stayed there forever, worlds away from her usual Californian existence. When I felt the freezing air on my face and the crunch of snow under my feet, one dream collided with another and I was back on a snowy slope in Central Park. I laughed and breathed in the freezing air. For an instant the world had rhythm and shape. Then the scene shifted and my husband and I, layers down deep in our Californian dream, chuckled as we realised that the snow is wonderful as long as you can leave it behind tomorrow.
Our fleeting visit to Big Bear reminded me of an old and true facet of Southern California that you catch glimpses of from time to time; the rugged outdoor mentality. There is a world here which marches to a very different tune than that of the angels of the metropolis. It’s a cleaner and more wholesome realm altogether. The kind of place those old tough guys, the first explorers who made it out West, would have recognised. It’s a world which Clint Eastwood always brings to mind and one of which Jedediah Smith might not have been ashamed.
Our frozen dream melted away as we made it down that mountain and back into the county of Los Angeles. A heavy driving rain had come to town. It stayed for a couple of days, a guest unwelcome to many. After the true cold of Big Bear we shrugged insouciantly. Unfazed by the wet with the temperatures holding to a steady cool warmth, we were worlds away from the icy mountain air.
As the air slowly dried I took an early morning walk on New Year’s Eve amidst the freshness of a city just waking up. Traces of yesterday’s rain were underfoot on the glimmering wet pavement and my mind held tight to traces of the week’s dream of snow. It was but a brief segue from those bright bustling streets, holding the promise of all the activity of the day, to that favourite seat of mine beside the water, watching the New Year riding in on his chariot across the waves.
