Snow was not rare in southwestern Kentucky when I was growing up in Todd County back in the Fifties and Sixties. Sometimes, we’d have close to a foot of it on the ground, though having just a few inches was certainly more common. Most times, it would be gone in a few days. That’s fairly typical in the moderate zones between North and South in the Lower Forty-Eight.

There were occasions, though, when the snow would come during or at the start of a deep and lingering cold. The pond and creeks would freeze thick enough that Paul and I could “skate” on them. Our idea of skating was just sliding across the ice in our work boots with our toes shielded by at least two layers of thick cotton socks. Hiking and sliding on the creeks were magical!

During the other seasons, walking through the woods was often challenging. Heavy vines with sharp spikes and thick undergrowth made it no easy hike in the woods. But on the frozen meander of the creek, there was a magical, inviting path. Sure, there was the occasional big rock sticking up in the middle, or the thick, rotting trunk of a tree long ago fallen into the water. Mostly, though, it was easy going. We could walk all the way from our place down to Simmons and beyond. Or clear over to where the Willis’s and Wallace’s lived if we were that ambitious.

In those extended spells, if the snow stayed on the ground, Mom would say, “The old folks would say ‘this snow is waiting for the next one.’” Sure enough, it seemed pretty often that we would indeed get another snow before that one was completely gone.

In retrospect, it seems like pretty simple odds that the longer you go in any given winter, the more likely you are to get another snow. But it was a pretty cool idea (pun intended) to think of the lingering fingers of snow tucked into the ditches and channels of the fields and woods as “waiting for the next one.”

Maybe that’s how we could think of those stubborn old souls that refuse to let go of their old-fashioned values. Things like honesty, hard work, kindness, loyalty, decency, friendliness, and such things. Maybe… instead of just jumping on the “everything’s going to hell in a handbasket” wagon, they’re holding out for something better. Maybe they’re waiting for the next generation to come along that’s willing to take hold of such things.

And maybe… they figure whether that next snow shows up or not, they’re going to hold on for as long as they can. Without bitterness or resentment or even so much as an “I told you so.” Maybe, they figure that’s just who they are, and they’d rather fade away slowly in the shadows than just give up and disappear all at once in the warmth of convenience.