A Favorite Snow Memory

We were only supposed to get a dusting, but some time in the night between eleven and four, it swirled in and piled up — at least an inch of white, wet snow. It’s a whipped cream day in Williamson County!

Every snowfall, I remember a big snow in the late 90s and my Southern husband who had lived in the North and knew how to drive in it and a trip home from West Tennessee.

It had started to snow when we were in Huntingdon visiting Charlie’s mother. We drove back to Franklin in it, and it wasn’t flakes. It was like silent blades of snow hitting the windshield. By dusk we were outside Nashville. We usually turned off the interstate west of town and followed McCrory Lane south, making our way to Sneed Road — that beautiful country drive through horse farms and million-dollar houses.

It was dark. Sneed Road was closed because of too-deep snow.

I’m always the scared one. “What’re we going to do? We’ll have to go back.”

“I’m going down Sneed Road anyway,” Charlie said. “It’s more dangerous to backtrack and find another route.”

He pulled around the barricade. I was tense, every muscle tightened, and in a panic mode.

He had no fear. Here was a man who had lived in Pittsburgh for twenty years, wore a long leather coat (which I still have) and wool scarf, and knew what he was doing.

Then…he turned the headlights off.

“What? What’re you doin’?” I pressed my feet into the floorboard like I had two brakes down there and could stop us from going on into the night, into the drifts.

He laughed. “It’s okay. We can see better without the lights. The snow makes its own light.”

He was right. The whole world around us was white, and we watched snow hit the windshield without the glare and harshness of manufactured light, and we could see just fine. It was beautiful. It was like a sleigh ride through the countryside.

Quiet. Soft. Peaceful. I will never forget.

 

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2 Comments on “A Favorite Snow Memory”

  1. Cynthia M. Beard says:

    What a wonderful memory!

  2. Don Day says:

    Cool experience. Never did that in Maine where I spent 18 winters


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