A Virginia version of “Almost Heaven” is where my family calls home – Mason’s Knob Mountain in the Blue Ridge of Roanoke. Not just a well-placed peak for viewers to take delight in, but our homeplace with breath taking panoramic views of the Roanoke Valley. Seated high, our abode is a part of an ecosystem that can be quite different than that of Roanoke City. The winters up here are intense with snow and ice and the springs cooler with blooming trees and budding plants lagging those of my friends “down below”.
Weather writes its own story on our mountain. And these two months of January and February 2025 have been quite the showcase of nature in its severity and splendor.
Packing snow and ice, the first storm in January blanketed us with a driveway crystal coated for three weeks. No going out of the house, nor down the porch steps without snow boots tightly laced up. Out for the forays in the mornings with wool socks and sturdy boots, I continued the requisite feeding of our herd of deer – 11 strong – who, from habit, lined up along a low brick wall for goodies that took the place of what can usually be nudged up with black noses from the ground. The two bird feeders out, and seed sprinkled on the brittle ground kept our feathered friends munching sunup to sundown while the squirrels hauled in big caches by stealing from the birds’ abundant supplies.
January featured a quite lengthy quota of Olympic competitions. The first week, there was no choice but to park my Subaru mid-way on our long driveway and walk up and down to the car. Our alpine driveway, comprised of a steep ascent and descent, became a virtual bobsledding track. Attired in my school clothes and donning cold weather boots, I set out on my journey to “skate” to my car, being ever vigilant not to slip. There is no traction on ice, even with the best of mountain boots. And walking home one evening from my parked car, I proved that law of nature true. One minute, stepping trepidatiously and the next, down on the glassy ground next to our neighbor’s huge mountain laurel plants. Down for the count – with my school computer bag and pocketbook tossed out onto the icy snowpack. And no one around to assist in getting me perpendicular again and sure footed on the ice. With no grip, there really is no way of getting upright except to slide on one’s backsides to an area less slippery. And so, with resolute determination I slid down until I was surefooted again and began the journey, trudging my way to the back door of my home that was welcoming me to safety and warmth.
The driveway, shaded all day, maintained its Denali like conditions for considerable time, but even ice must give way even to the faint glimmering rays of sun. With the hard crystal slate slowly losing its clutch, I was finally able to commandeer my Forester up and down our driveway in the late afternoons and out again every morning. This manageable driving on snow and hardpack was my daily routine for three weeks as well as arriving to school every morning with snow boots on and exchanging them for less rugged street shoes in the parking lot. Why was there no one else wearing boots to school? All were wearing street shoes, the likes of which I had not worn outside since what surely had to have been as long ago as Christmas.
But the beauty – the serene beauty of living on a mountain with full views of the Roanoke Valley and beyond in white crispness and freezing cold more than outweighs the rigors of living above in winter. Amid this twilight period in which we were living, the deer and the birds became our frequent diner customers. Showing up in the early mornings and late afternoons morphed into middle of the day grazing visits as well. Standing in the driveway and peering through the kitchen window, my dun grey-colored backyard friends beckoned me with playful hoof stomping for more dry gruel. And their meal requests were gratified by my willing indulgence. Not to be outdone, the woodpeckers, cardinals, titmice, sparrows and wrens received their favorite treats in feeders and pockets carved out in the snow that were sprinkled with copious amounts of their favorite nuts and fruits.
In early February, the winter challenges loomed large. Weather reporting from the local king of meteorology, Kevin Myatt, was my steady diet as the February storms prognosticated came true. Daily reading of the weather man’s words brought the reward of more school days off – but this time, ice would step up to be an even bigger player that would knock us out this time around. A blustery night held the sounds of trees cracking and crashing to the ground – on a roof, deck and ultimately, a car. And suddenly, a big popping sound followed by darkness and ensuing cold. For five days, our small generator saved us from this bleak mid-winter, permitting us to run small heaters, and to toggle on and off fuse box switches to eke out water for the bare minimum needs. Sleeping at night was made more comfortable by donning a hat to bed, conserving much needed body heat.
Days passed before I put the Subaru gear in low on the white clad driveway to arrive to the other world of power and heat. Living the life of “Grizzly Adams” had become my new norm and I realized that I had experienced a measure of culture shock in descending the mountain and discovering everyone else’s normal life, sans snow and ice. Cooking food on a stove top, not pressurizing a water tank so that brief showers could be taken and not going to bed in swaddling clothes. How had so many not experienced the vicissitudes of nature that had brought us the weather that snow lovers long for? I had become accustomed to this deep winter life on our mountain, so was I willing for the sun and melt that would take me back to the life lived below? And here, in letting go of our Vive la difference. the arrival of oversized white trucks and sturdy men brought new poles and new lines. And we were back in the other real world – just like that.
Beauty can be consoling, disturbing, sacred, profane; it can be exhilarating, appealing, inspiring, chilling. It can affect us in an unlimited variety of ways. Yet it is never viewed with indifference: beauty demands to be noticed; it speaks to us directly like the voice of an intimate friend. If there are people who are indifferent to beauty, then it is surely because they do not perceive it. – Roger Scruton