Frostbite, Friendship, and the Sound of Snow

I was on my way to the airport to pick up Melissa.

I hadn’t seen her since I left Albuquerque, and she was flying in to visit for Christmas. I was living in Fargo, North Dakota at the time, and after a quick stop at my apartment, we were heading straight to Park Rapids to spend time with my family.

That winter was brutal — cold and snowy in the way only the Northern Midwest can deliver. I warned her ahead of time: wear a sweater, boots, and a warm coat. I’ll take care of the rest. Hats, mittens, snowpants, scarves, etc.

Imagine my amusement when she stepped off the plane wearing a long leather coat, leather gloves, cowboy boots, and a sweater we would wear in spring or early fall.

I nearly exploded laughing.

All I could think was, “Girl… you are going to freeze your ass off here.”

The drive to Park Rapids was beautiful. The trees were heavy—pregnant with snow—and the flakes twirled and danced around the car like they were putting on a show for the sun.

After we arrived, settled in, and visited with my family, Melissa and I decided to go for a walk. The sky was bright blue, the sun was out, and everything looked picture-perfect.

A few minutes into the walk, she stopped.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, her breath fogging up the air so thick it almost hid her face. “I just keep hearing this weird noise.”

“What kind of noise?”

“Like… squeaking. Little squeaking noises.”

We kept walking and she said, “There it is again. Do you hear it?”

And that’s when it clicked.

“Oh,” I said. “That’s the snow. It squeaks under your feet when it’s really cold.”

She stopped dead in her tracks, turned to look me straight in the eye, and hissed,
“How can you people live like this?!”

Absolutely cracked me up.

But honestly… she wasn’t wrong.

Living “up North” in deep winter isn’t for the faint of heart. Doing basic life things becomes a full-time chore. Cars won’t start. Roads close. People can’t get to work because they’re snowbound. Vehicles end up scattered in ditches like warning signs, and being outside too long can go from really refreshing to really dangerous, really fast.

The upside?

It forges community.

There’s a kind of shared grit that shows up when you’re all surviving the same thing. A trauma-bonded, “we do what we’ve gotta do” kind of camaraderie. I see it in the upper East Coast too — that pride and strength people carry when winter demands everything you got just to get through the day.

That’s the part I love.

People pull together. They help each other out. Not because it’s trendy… but because you have to. And honestly, that’s the way I think it should be — not just when disaster hits, but always. Even when the sun is shining and life is easy.

But when snow isn’t angry, it does something divine.

It softens everything. It quiets the world.

And this morning — even here, where engines, sirens, and noise are the norm — I sat on my balcony… in the snow (yes, in the snow) …and listened to the silence.

It was the simplest kind of meditation.

Not a formal ritual. Not a perfect setup.
Just coffee, breath, and stillness.

Thank you, God, for the silence. Thank you.

So even though I had planned to go to church today with a friend, the Lord said he would meet me at my place so I wouldn’t have to go out in the snow (even if it’s fluffy and pretty and probably won’t last past noon). It’s okay if I wear my sweatpants.

Namaste — “The Divine in me honors the Divine in you… that place where we are one.” 🤍