Letter No. 2 [winter in the Berkshires]

My mom is from Northern Wisconsin, and she's always loved winters. She loves walking at night during a snowstorm and wearing her thick leather mittens everywhere. She even loves shoveling snow. I never understood it until this year.

This is my first full winter in the Berkshires. I've only experienced winter here during a few short weeks of Christmas break during college, but this is the first time I'm here for the long-haul. I was dreading the cold; The negative-degree temperatures, the bitterness in the air that takes the breath out of you, the slushy roads and wiping snow off of your car before work in the mornings. A funny thing has happened though. Winter in the Berkshires has cast its spell on me. I never thought I'd say this, but I love it.

Last week, I got out of work to find the streets white again with another storm. The snow fell fast in soft little pellets, sounding, "tink, tink, tink" on the trees I passed under and against my jacket. When I got to my car I had to shovel the snow off. I wasn't prepared for a storm--I didn't have mittens and wasn't even wearing boots. It was okay though. I started my car and began shoveling it off. As I got to the back end of my car, I couldn't help but smile, and I actually said out loud, "I love winter in New England!"

I do. I love the frosty roads and the bare, exposed trees that stretch up to heavy gray skies. I love the changing snow--the sparkly flecks that make everything look like a fairyland, and the thick, wet, slow kind. Winter in the Berkshires means cozy New England homes with candles in the windows, and sleepy towns with just locals, and people dressed in puffy layers of down, coming into the cafe I work at with rosy cheeks and sniffy noses.

The cold makes me feel alive. When the air stings, and it hurts a little to breath, it reminds me that I do breath. I like how we can't control the snow or the temperatures. We can't even really predict them accurately. And when a storm hits, we all hole in. New Englanders have grit. They know to slow down when they drive and take a little more time to stop, they know to put their windshield wipers up before a big storm, and they know how to brighten their winter gear with warm-colored scarves and mittens. They've got this down, they take it all in stride.

The days are short and the overcast skies are constant, but the snow reflects the pink of early mornings and the shadows of blue in the evenings. It's bitter and beautiful all at once, and I'm thankful to be living in this country and in this region. I wouldn't trade winter in the Berkshires for anything.