Throughout my youth, I remember my parents debating whether it would be safe to drive Christmas Eve. I have memories of being stranded halfway home on Christmas night, unable to drive the remaining 8 miles to my home. My childhood was filled with Christmas vacations sledding, carving out forts in the banks and having snowball fights with my brother.
Last year there was no snow. In an area that usually has 32 inches of the white stuff by Christmas, last year we had only accumulated a grand total of 1.5 inches. This year, however, will be different as the snow has already arrived; my children have already played outdoors and made snowmen; my snow-blower has been used more in the last two days than all of last season; and there is more snow on the way.
Understanding that the oceans are warmer than ever, the seas are rising, and the polar ice caps melted more this past summer than any other (and are thinner still, so this trend will continue), I am saddened for my children. Earlier last week, the prospects of a green Christmas depressed me, however, this morning I am woke up happily.
After all, there is something unmistakably beautiful about a white Christmas.