Snohomish is a pretty normal place. There's a river, some shops, and as many Starbucks' as any other city. Personally, I really enjoyed growing up in a town like this, where a world of activities was in a range of 20 miles, but my town was different than others for one reason: it just wouldn't snow. As a kid, I remember seeing pictures of myself as a baby bundled up out in the snow, with at the very least one foot of powder. All of the sudden, the snow stopped; it started to be a treat to see even the smallest flurry every year.
My only complaint about Snohomish is that it's a grey area, both metaphorically and physically. The weather for a solid 80 percent of the year basically is just cloudy, not even raining, it just had the presence of clouds. Metaphorically speaking, though, Snohomish is grey because it's in between two extremes. It's close enough to the Pacific Ocean that there can be quite a bit of rain all at once, but close enough to quite literally anywhere else that it can get seasons. However, it's far enough away from both sides that the weather meets itself in the middle, causing consistent seasons to be seemingly nonexistent.
I fully understand why adults dislike snow. It's cold, it's a mess to drive in, and when it's that cold, pipes burst and damage can be done. As a kid though, you don't notice these things. You're only concerned with the magic that is a snow day off of school.
There was one year that it snowed about three feet, which was basically unheard of. We were out of school for at least a week, which, again, was basically the opposite of anything we've ever known. Everything was closed, but, as I was in third grade, it didn't matter to me. Luckily, my friends lived close enough to us that they were able to come over and we went legitimately sledding for this first time in a few years.
Previously, we used our sleds to slide down what could be referred to as a frozen hill. No snow, just frost. That year was different. That year, tons of kids gathered on the second biggest hill in the neighborhood, and every kid waited and traded sleds. At that point, each of us was young enough that either we had a younger sibling or our parents would all come out and sled with us, which was arguably the lamest part of the day.
On that day, my best friend at the time came over. My friend Maggie had a sister who was the same age as my little sister, so the four of us hung out together. That day, after we went sledding, we made the trek back to my house, where my mom had made us snacks and had turned on the first "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" movie, which was a sign of the time, I guess. For the rest of the day, we gave each other the cheese touch, drank cocoa, and watched the snow continue to fall.
Winter has always been my favorite season. The first snowfall of the year is the most magical day of the year, somehow even more magical than Christmas morning or my birthday. When I picture snow, I see glints of light, like the snow is sparkling, just calling me towards it. To this day, the thought of a snow day makes me more excited than the thought of taking a vacation to somewhere tropical or going to Disneyland, two very exciting things.
At the ripe, old age of 18, I picture a snow day being one of the greatest things that could happen. I love the snow, and I love the feeling I get when I share a mug of cocoa with my best friends. The forecast for this weekend shows more snow, and my fingers are crossed.
