Hello, readers, and welcome to the second week of February! If you’re anything like me, you were equal parts delighted and confused about the surprise snow last Saturday (and also a bit disdainful toward the onslaught of wintry Instagram posts.) Like plenty of Furman students, I grew up in the Southeast—Decatur, GA, to be exact—so any sort of wintry precipitation was always a precious novelty. When I looked out my window that morning and saw that the snow was sticking, I felt that familiar childlike thrill. Snow? From the sky? How unusual! How surreal!
I’ve had a snow day during each year that I’ve spent at Furman. Some have been more memorable than others—for example, the snow day that occurred during finals season in December 2018, the entirety of which I spent in bed due to a wicked hangover-slash-food-poisoning combo. (This I do not recommend.) My favorite snow day was probably the one that occurred during spring semester of my sophomore year. I recall trudging around Lakeside with two of my friends, throwing snowballs in each other’s faces and drawing pictures in the snow with our fingertips. Something about that day felt like a piece of childhood.
It is a well-observed fact that snow summons up a particular breed of nostalgia. I can think of a few reasons for this. First, there’s nothing quite like the soft peacefulness of snow. Candidly, it is one of my favorite types of weather. Snow makes everything quiet. It muffles the world. For me—a person who often feels like the air around me is swirling with loose noise—this is an extremely pleasant byproduct of this precipitation. There’s also the fact that snow beautifies everything it covers. On a campus as good-looking as Furman’s, this makes for some seriously pretty views (and some seriously redundant photos on social media.)
Being the sappy senior that I am, I felt a pang when I realized that last Saturday’s snow day was likely the last such snow that I’ll experience as a Furman student. As I walked to the DH that morning, I felt—not for the first time—envious of the freshmen, who have three more years at Furman ahead of them. Like everything lately, the snow reminded me that the time I’ve spent at this university is drawing to a close.
Usually, the sight of melting snow depresses me, but when I awoke to the slush and mud on Sunday, I felt oddly at ease. It was nice to observe an expected event in the midst of my pre-graduation angst. Some things are comforting in their predictability. Snow melts. We wake up and pass the time.