Snow days

Posted 8/21/12

Oh, how those two little words used to thrill. I’m not sure when I turned into my own grandfather, but as kids across the Upper Delaware River region press their noses to the window, praying to …

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Snow days

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Oh, how those two little words used to thrill. I’m not sure when I turned into my own grandfather, but as kids across the Upper Delaware River region press their noses to the window, praying to hear the news, I find myself regaling youngsters with how difficult it was back in the day, when it took a blizzard to cause a cancellation and we had to walk to school, bundled up in snow pants and mittens, braving the elements whether we wanted to or not. I remember rolling my eyes at my sister as grandpa droned on and on, but nowadays the kids just blatantly ignore, immersed in their video games and texting, oblivious to my never-ending tale of woe, laced with finger wagging over how easy they have it these days.

Granted, not a lot of children walk to school now, and the roads here in the country can be very tricky when they ice up, as they have in the last week. On top of that, entertainment cancellations throughout the region tend to cascade in a domino effect that can leave me stranded at home, waxing rhapsodic about the old days, sometimes wishing that I could walk to my destination and that snow pants were still in style. It’s days like this that cause my pals in California to call, wanting to gloat, as they revel by the beach, ignorant of why we live where we do. “Yes, it’s freezing here,” I’ll say, “but the landscape is so gorgeous… well you just have no idea, you poor warm saps!”

Admittedly, it’s a trade-off. Although sunny skies and tropical weather have a certain appeal while in the throes of a New York or Pennsylvania winter, when I bundle up to escort the Wonder Dog outside, I tend to grab my camera in an attempt to capture the fleeting moments that make it all worthwhile. “Without winter, spring would never smell so sweet,” I mutter to the trees as the dog scampers about, sniffing deer tracks and barking at her own breath in the brisk (I mean below zero) air. Lamenting the latest cancelled concert or delayed gallery opening reception, I vow to make lemonade and snap away, in an attempt to capture the moment, mesmerized by a branch encased in ice, amused as the pooch slips and slides down the driveway, remembering when it was fun to do that myself, before I was concerned about breaking a grandpa-aged hip.

Safely ensconced in front of the computer (“when I was your age, we had three TV channels and played outside!”), I scan the Internet for upcoming events that will not be hampered by the weather. As if they could read my mind, the folks at the DVAA (www.artsalliancesite.org) have come up with a cool (IMHO) concept with which to circumvent snow days, by launching a new online art space named the “Bgallery.” The web-based gallery, curated by Phyllis Bilick, will debut with an exhibition titled “The Impact of Color” and will “build upon the DVAA’s established physical spaces” and serve as “a forum to feature single bodies of work, as well as challenging concepts and ideas” in the form of a virtual art gallery, which will also be displayed via computer monitor in the gallery’s Narrowsburg home throughout the year. Curious as to whether this concept might allow for photographic exhibition, I read on. “The purpose of the online Bgallery is to have a curatorial dialog where artists worldwide submit purely to be part of the selected discussion by using their images/artwork,” it states. “Artists’ contact information will be included on the site, and people interested can contact the artist directly.”

While hardly considering myself an “artist,” I’m intrigued by this concept and scan my latest photographs for images that might be considered. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” I remind myself, “and pictures don’t lie; it’s gorgeous out there.” The shriveled leaves and icy branches that catch my eye are fleeting reminders of the stunning moments that inspire me as I slip and slide my way through the Catskills, observing young folks skiing, sledding and building snowmen, oblivious to the dangers inherent to their grandparents’ brittle bones. As the sun glints off of the snow-capped hills of home, I’m reminded of why I live here and bask in the glow. With spring a mere 63 sunsets away, the snow days of winter will fade into memory as another season unfolds, but I’ll have the photos to remind me, in case I forget how cold it is today.

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