It has just this minute started snowing.
The best part of it is that it’s just so beautiful. So wildly charming. So emphatically silent. It’s also (in this climate, at least), a universal stop-work whistle. On the day these pics were taken, back in 2007, the house was crawling with electricians. The moment it started to snow, we all just stood on the verandah, transfixed, oohing and aahing and telling old snow stories. I don’t know whether they charged me for that time or not, and I don’t really care.
One of the under-appreciated advantages of the occasional snow is that it allows you to see your garden in a whole new way. These opportunities are rare and precious. We get so used to seeing our surroundings in a particular way, or through a particular lens, that we kind of stop looking.
You’ll get up on your roof to clear the guttering, or climb a ladder and look down, and suddenly see things differently – sometimes so differently that you see solutions or possibilities that you’ve never seen before.
It’s a bit like that with snow. Everything is suddenly under-lit as if with up-lights, and looks – however briefly – entirely different. That alone dismantles a whole lot of filters through which you normally see. The snow also means that you lose the separation of garden bed and path, and wonder whether the placement of the path, and all the divisions that result, could be better done. There’s all sorts of ways in which it makes you look – and think – again.
Of course there’s other ways of forcing a new view. There’s the ladder-method, as above. You can take a whole lot of pics of your garden, and convert them to black and white on the computer. You’ll see faults (and opportunities) that had until then escaped you. You can walk around with a small mirror, and see everything in reverse. The result is always looks more enticing and engaging, just because you’re not desensitized to it.
But my favourite way of seeing things afresh is a good blanket of snow.
Bring it on.