Our house on Harrison Street had a small radio that sat on the counter when we were growing up. When it would snow, my mom, sister, and I would sit around the kitchen table eagerly awaiting the report of school closures on our little radio.
My mom was a second-grade teacher, so she would be as hopeful as us for a good old snow day.
A break from the fast pace of life and all its demands. A time to stay cozy inside and sit on top of the warm floor vents that we let blow up our long nightgowns. We would laugh as we changed shapes.
One year that I remember well, day after day for a whole week, was we heard “Noblesville Schools CLOSED.” We all cheered and began planning our cozy days at home.
My sister and I couldn’t wait to gear up and play in the snow or go sledding with our aunts and our cousins. We would pile as many of us as we could on the old wooden toboggan with the red rails. What fun that was!
The hill at Forest Park is where we would sled. My mom or one of my aunts would give me a ride back to the top of the big hill as it was difficult for me to walk back up. Other kids called me lucky. I wished I could walk up like everyone else.
Those were the best of days. “Core memories” are what those memories are called these days, I think.
When I had my own kids, they would get so excited, too, when they had a snow day to play with their cousins.
I was limited on what I could do in the snow with them, but that did not stop me from trying. By the time I got the boys all bundled, I was exhausted! Not to mention the big wet mess when we came back in. It was worth it. Then we would warm our bones with hot chocolate piled high with marshmallows.
Each year, I still wait for the time it snows enough to challenge me a little to walk in it. I especially love when I can get out while it is actively snowing. There is nothing like that peaceful feeling. It is so gloriously silent.
I always document my snow walks with pictures and videos, not knowing if it will be my last walk in the snow. Each year, it feels like it may be the last. I cherish it.
Photo provided
It is a double-edged sword. Part of me loves to look back on the videos of my snow walks. The other part a stark reminder of the cruel progression of my disease on full display.
Last weekend was the biggest challenge I have had in many years. I sat and stared at the snow for hours as it came down, psyching myself up to go out in it. My mind daydreamed about gearing up and going for a long, peaceful walk alone with my thoughts.
My husband went out to shovel, so I decided I better gear up if I was going to attempt my annual snow walk. Pulling on my snow pants and tying my boots, quickly depleted my energy.
With about eight inches of snow on the ground by then, he held me up on one side, and my big sunflower stalk, given to me by my aunt last summer, the other.
Leaning heavily on him, I took a step just barely clearing the snow. That was my stronger side. The other side, impossible to lift over the tall snow. I felt like quitting. “You can do this,” my husband said. I stepped over with my stronger side and dragged my other leg about 50 steps or so.
My days of solo snow walking may be over, but I will fight with everything in me just to take a few steps with whatever help I need each year. Facing those types of challenges and getting to the other side gives me a rush of motivation that I crave.
I will do my best to let my thoughts ruminate on the best-case scenario for next year’s snow day.
Until next time …
Amy Shinneman is a former National Ambassador for the Muscular Dystrophy Association, disability blogger, freelance writer, wife, and mom of two boys. She is the recipient of the Reporter’s Winter 2025 Ink-Stained Wretch award. You can find her blog at humblycourageous.com and reach her on Instagram @ashinneman.