Originally printed in the Jan/Feb 2026 issue of Down Country Roads Magazine

In the dreary midwinter months, I can’t ever quite put my finger on it, on what makes it so special, but there is something about a snowfall day that feels like a holiday. Having left the brightness of December behind, the series of festivities that leave the heart merry, January and February can stretch on eternally into an expansive dreariness, hard on the eyes and heavy on the heart. But at the first light sight of a fresh, heavy snow sifting down, gently swirling in a lightening sky, something in me lightens as well.

Yes, there can be the dreaded storms that are termed “calf killers,” particularly in March and April (which also happen to be the storms that fill dams, and ready the ground for growing grass, and do a world of good on a ranch), and there can be the similarly deadly or just plain miserable cold snaps, where temperatures plummet for days or weeks on end.

But then there are those midwinter storms, with the grey, heavy sky, clouds seeming to rest in the tops of the trees, and the million flakes tumbling, floating, whirling earth-ward, like downy feathers or falling stars, without wind, with a friendly sort of cold. The settling peace is almost overwhelming, the whiteness dazzling, as a transformation happens to the dreary, midwinter world.

Maybe it is simply the welcome interruption to the daily, winter routine – From dusting the vehicles off to shoveling the deck to stomping a trail down to the barnyard to do chores, snow creates an interruption, and jars us out of routine.

Maybe it is the complete and utter transformation of a bleak midwinterscape – Brown hillsides are beautified, with snow to soften the contours; dirty corrals and calving lot are made momentarily clean, with snow to keep the dust down; barren branches of oaks and cottonwoods, piled with snow to hide their barrenness – All is made gentler, softer by a fresh layer of gleaming white.

Maybe it is the heightened awareness of the otherwise invisible – Winding ribbons of a deer trail that appear in that first dusting; drab little birds dipping and diving around the feeder, feathered acrobats that normally fade into a weary, winter backdrop; the tiniest trails of tracks in the snow, from clump of grass to stump to rockpile, evidence of the invisible lives of field mice and rabbits and other mundane critters; bright blue of a jay, cheerful against the white; shreds of threads of the autumn’s last spider webs under the eaves, gathering flurries.

Maybe it is the recollection of the enchantment of childhood, hours spent outside as the snow piled up, snow angels and snowball fights, snow forts and snowmen, until fingers and toes were numb and nose was red.

Whatever it is, whatever the cause, there is magic in a midwinter snow.

Swirling eddies dance against the barn and the shop and the chicken coop, depositing drift upon drift upon drift, and heavy chore boots swish softly through the fresh-fallen snow. Chickens wade comically through the snow as it deepens, breaking their own little path to the water tank down below, or their favorite spots around the yard. The geldings kick up their hooves and create a ground blizzard, dashing through the snowy pasture, a little extra vim and vigor, a little extra fire smoldering cheerfully in the mild-mannered critters. Such a snow transforms everything.

And from the indoors looking out, at the snowglobe world, shaken and all stirred up? Warmth feels warmer, coziness feels cozier, and an hour with a book is sheer delight.

Spring will come soon enough. So, let it snow!