The first fall of snow is not only

an event, it is a magical event.

— anonymous

I really like texting, especially with my kids. It’s definitely less intrusive, yet it opens the door to a conversation if the timing is right.

This week the sweetest text came from our son, who is enjoying his first quarter at college:

Hey Mom. It’s snowing. Haha.

Oh, wow! Do have warm enough clothes?

Yeah I do. It’s snowing like crazy. And sticking.

How fun is it riding your bike through campus with the snow coming down?

Pretty cool! But I could use some hobo gloves with flaps.

What is it about snow anyway? The very day we texted, snow became the topic amongst my Facebook friends as well. Ross in Colorado talked about seeing fluffy flakes falling outside his office window. Dianna posted photos of her snow-covered yard in Oregon. And Heather posted on her wall, “It was almost 80 degress on Sunday and now there are big fat flakes of snow. I love Colorado!”

I head kicking and screaming into fall each year, for I adore summers on Whidbey Island. This year was worse, for we discovered the public oyster bed on Madronna Way and the fun of pulling up crab pots with our friend Ron. Mid summer my husband and I put our new kayak in the water and during our maiden voyage watched 3 river otters play within a yard of the bow while paddling inside the Crescent Harbor marsh.

But tease me with the chance of snow and I experience a youthful joy that sends me into town for cold weather supplies and wakes me up in the middle of the night to check the deck for snow accumulations. At one time I thought the rush was caused by a childhood filled with California sunshine and somewhat deprived of snow. Now I know better. It’s pure magic. That and the knowledge that the white stuff will come and go with little aggravation.

I love the peace that snowfall brings. I love standing on my deck, coffee in hand, and waving at my neighbors. I like seeing people walk their dogs and children roll snow into balls, fit for creating snowmen. I love seeing tree boughs hang with snow and putting out feed for the hungry birds who winter here on the island. I love making soup and slathering a slice of homemade bread with butter. I love hearing the snow reports from my sister-in-law who lives on a mountain in California’s Gold Country.

I am also reminded that snow is not magic if you are homeless. Jackets, hats, scarves, blankets and mittens—new or gently used—are needed right now. That goes for Whidbey Island, even though our temperatures are relatively moderate and our homeless largely unseen. Talk with any social agency in town and you will learn that too many people sleep in their cars and couch surf. There is not enough low-cost housing and families continue to struggle during this economic downturn. Please donate to your favorite church or thrift store and share the warmth this November.

Reach Joan Bay Klope, faithfulliving@hotmail.com.