Lowcountry Riffs: Reflections in the snow | Columnists | Our Gazette

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Lowcountry Riffs: Reflections in the snow

Published Wednesday, February 17, 2010 9:27 AM

By Jim Tatum
The Gazette

One almost never sees a snowman standing next to a palm tree.

So I am glad to report that I have, in fact, witnessed such a phenomenon. Even took a picture of it.

Now that the snow is gone, however, I’m ready for this winter to be done. Global warming, my hairy elbow; if there is such a thing, it ain’t happening fast enough.

I am a thin-skinned, warm weather loving Southern boy. That’s why I live here. You don’t have to shovel heat. You can pretty much walk around in short sleeves nearly all year long. And you will probably never, ever see fellow Southerners willingly moving to places like Buffalo, New York. Oh, they exist, all right, but they’re sort of like one-legged woodpeckers and honest politicians. You’re pretty sure they’re around, you may even have seen one before, but they’re so rare as to be considered at best aberrational and at worst delusional.

Still, I’m not so deep into my curmudgeon-hood that I don’t think a dose of the white stuff once in awhile – like once every two decades – is fun.

Saturday morning I awakened to a pretty good covering of soft, fluffy, powdery snow. I knew I would have a fairly small window of photo opportunity, so I downed a couple of quick cups of Joe, leashed up my wonder hounds, slung my camera around my neck, and off we went to explore the neighborhood.

I must admit, that first sight early in the morning was quite beautiful. Trees holding the powder like cake frosting, rooftops glistening brilliantly in the distance, untouched fields of pure white shimmering before us.

I unleashed the dogs and prepared to fire away with the camera. I wouldn’t be disappointed.

Our dogs are Welsh Corgis, powerful little fellows with barrel chests and short legs – low riders, as it were. I was curious to see how they would like dragging their bellies through the powder. As it turned out, our young buck absolutely loved it. He hit the snow covered flats at a full gallop, performed a classic full-on racing dive and proceeded to bull his way through with only the tips of his ears sticking up through the surface so that he looked more like a pair of furry black-tipped sharks than a dog. Then his head exploded through the surface, face covered in frosting and he shook all over. He hadn’t looked so pleased with himself since he discovered his big dog voice.

Our older girl is a little more civilized and a little less enamored of the unusual elements. She loves to get dirty with the best of them, but wasn’t so crazy about disappearing into the drifts. Diving into a dirty duck pond or rolling in a new mud puddle is more her speed.

As we walked, the neighborhood came alive. Children everywhere were building snowmen and snow forts, starting snowball fights, making angels, trying their hands at working up makeshift sleds. The most successful experiment I saw was someone using a boogie board as a makeshift luge.

Alas, all good things must come to an end and snow, especially around here, is ephemeral at best. The snow started melting about mid-morning and was pretty much gone by Sunday afternoon. As I look out my front window, all that is left to prove that it was really here are a few forlorn white patches in tiny areas that never see the sun.

Oh, yeah, and a swampy, mud encrusted tundra that used to be the back yard.

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