the Life of Snow in Anchorage

My partner and I worked out of doors all morning clearing snow, mountains of snow that has accumulated over the past few weeks.  I estimate the depth to be about three and a half feet.   Luckily the flakes have been fluffy and light, so moving it was not too taxing.  Still, I am tired, and ready to relax for the remainder of the day.

Light, fluffy snow is a rarity in Anchorage.  Rumor has it that the Inupiat people of Alaska have over two hundred words for snow, because it come in so many textures.  Seldom is it suitable for making snow men or snow balls.  Snow here has a life cycle, and its texture changes with time and temperature.

Often it is heavy and has the consistency of corn starch.  Once, years ago, I ran theater lighting for a show, "1940s Radio Hour."  The show was about a live radio broadcast during WWII from New York city.  The sound effects for all the skits and commercials in the show were accomplished by one man using a cart containing a variety of sound making devices, bells, train whistle, and xylophone amongst others.  The sound of footsteps in the snow was made by putting a bag of corn starch up to a microphone suspended above the effects cart.  The sound man physically squeezed the bag to replicate the rhythm of footsteps.  The sound perfectly imitated the way footsteps sound in the corn snow in Alaska.  I remember being delighted by that discovery when I experienced my first real snow fall in Anchorage.

Another unique feature of the snow fall, at least here in Anchorage, is the way the temperature always plummets a day or two after the heavy fall.  The temperature during the fall will be basically tolerable, but once the humidity has been expelled in the form of snowflakes, the dry air becomes very frigid.  You learn quickly to get out and enjoy the snow the very day it accumulates, for if you wait, you will surely be recreating in a deep freeze.

 
I spent many hours playing in the snow when I was younger.  I loved to cross country ski, downhill ski and winter camp.  Now, I am content to shovel snow from the yard and from the roof.  That tends to take the wind from my sails, but I still enjoy sightseeing.

The drive south from Anchorage to the Kenai Peninsula or to Seward is spectacular.  The mountains transform from vistas of green to white seemingly overnight.  You can see avalanche tracks in the gullies and magnificent cornices overhanging the ridge lines.

The snow creates a winter garden from the familiar everyday objects of summer.  It blankets all the trees, the bushes, fences, outdoor furniture leaving only shapes vaguely resembling the original object.  Your imagination can run wild.  What was once a concrete bench can become the layer of mythical beast.  When the temperature drops, the hoar frost forms on the trees, and other woody vegetation.  The longer the span of cold, the more fantastic, flower like shapes materialize as the crystals grow and metamorphose using the moisture exhales from the living branches.

Even in the dead of winter, life thrives and beauty prevails.