My wife and I have a long-standing disagreement on the subject of snow. She, blessed and saintly creature that she is, has never lost her childhood affection for the sight of blanketed fields and a gleaming driveway, or the way every tree just looks like Christmas after a fresh snowfall. And the photographer in her resents and covets the winters they have in Scandinavia and places like Vermont and Maine, where regular snowfalls transform already beautiful landscapes into idyllic scenes.
But then, she doesn’t drive a rear-wheel drive car. As things would happen, I had to drive in the snow yesterday morning, and bringing the car back in one piece feels like one of life’s great accomplishments. Besides that, I am much more cynical about snow. It turns to ugly slush, it has an annoying tendency to freeze into a crunchy irritation, and it makes almost everything about living an ordinary Irish life harder.
This article is premium content
Get unlimited access to Gript
Support Gript and get exclusive content, full archives and an ad-free experience
Subscribe
Already a member? Sign in here