Dave Anderson looks at that first light, innocent snowfall.

The certainty of cold, metallic-blue sunrises or gray, rainy afternoons makes December a time of interminable waiting. Nights grow long and cold. We wait for the holidays, for winter solstice … and that first snowfall…

First flakes mix into a cold evening rain and magically-frost distant mountaintops overnight. Snow appears on lawns by dawn and disappears after sunrise. It isn’t a real snowstorm – not the snow that lingers in dark hemlock hollows of north-facing slopes until April. It’s not as sinister as it is wondrous.

That sudden appearance of snow fuels winter “nesting” instincts. Snow is best admired from inside the house beside a crackling fire, where window sashes frame a Japanese landscape print. Dripping, melting snow clings to remnant leaves and lightly gilds pine boughs along an icy brook. It’s a youthful winter: innocent and beautiful.

The smell of snow conjures childhood snowball memories. My boot tracks follow me into the woods, where rattling beech leaves hiss how I marred the clean, white carpet. Tattle-tale tracks also reveal where turkeys and deer scratched overnight in wet oak leaves for acorns. When snow deepens, it’s harder to reach those dwindling acorns. Turkeys soon frequent birdfeeders and deer browse maple saplings and chew hemlock bark. Tracking snow improves hunter success in the dwindling twilight of deer season. Expectant skiers smile.   

First snow follows the “first dose is free” marketing scheme. It fires a warning shot across our bow, then melts-away quickly with little plowing or shoveling. And while startling, it’s also predictable come December.