Carma's Snow Lessons: Winter Challenges and Life Lessons for the Grandkids

Do you remember the major snowstorm in 1967 that dumped up to 24 inches of snow and created blizzard conditions? Or Snowmageddon of 2010, when the snow was so fine, it was like crystals floating from the sky?

Winter has always been my season of wonder. Even after experiencing all those, there is still something magical about the first snowfall of the year, when the world transforms into a pristine, white wonderland. As a grandma, snow, cold, and ice aren't just pretty—they're challenging. Let me tell you about a particular winter's day that taught me a lesson I couldn't wait to share with my grandkids.

It started with this first storm. The night before, I had watched the weather report warn of a blizzard, the kind that shuts down roads and closes schools. I stocked up on essentials and double-checked the pantry. Over the years, I'd learned that preparation is key, a lesson I've often tried to pass down. "Full tank, check. Go bag in the car, check. Shovel, check."

By morning, the world outside was a blanket of white. The snow was piled high against the door, and the wind howled like a wild animal. I'll admit, part of me wanted to stay bundled under my quilt with a cup of Earl Grey, but my practical side knew better. The driveway wouldn't clear itself, and there were birds that relied on my feeder for food.

As I layered up—thermal socks, heavy boots, my thickest coat, and a scarf knitted by my older sister—I thought about resilience. Winter, in all its harshness, is a great teacher of grit. It doesn't wait for us to feel ready; it just arrives, demanding action.

Out I went, shovel in hand. The snow was heavier than I'd expected, the kind that clings together and fights back with every scoop. My breath formed clouds in front of me, and soon enough, my gloves were damp and my cheeks stung with cold. With every heave of my shovel, I reminded myself why I was doing this: to create a safe path, not just for me but for anyone who might need it. Isn't that what life is about? Clearing paths for others, even when it's tough?

As I worked, I thought about my grandkids and how easy it is for them to take modern conveniences for granted. Snowplows, heating systems, and grocery deliveries mean they don't always see the effort that goes into making life comfortable. So, I decided that this would be a lesson day.

When the driveway was finally clear, I trudged back inside, cheeks red and fingers numb. After a quick warm-up by the fire, I Face Timed my grandkids. "Guess what Carma's been doing?" I asked.

"Shoveling snow?" said my grandson, wrinkling his nose.

"That's right," I said. "And do you know why?"

"Because you don't want to get stuck," he guessed.

"Partly," I said. "But mostly because hard work is how we take care of the things that matter. The driveway doesn't clear itself, and if I want to ensure I'm safe and ready for whatever comes next, I have to put in the effort—even when it's hard or uncomfortable."

His face lit up with some recognition. He has heard me talk about effort before, but there's something about seeing it in action that hopefully will drive the point home.

"Doesn't the snow just come back?" he asked, a little skeptically.

"Sometimes it does," I said with a smile. "But that's another lesson. Some work has to be done over and over again. It's like making your bed every morning or brushing your teeth. It might not stay done forever, but it's still important."

Later that day, the icy driveway became another teaching moment. My neighbor, a spry man in his seventies, was out salting his walk, and we exchanged stories of past winters. "Remember the ice storm of '87?" he asked.

Oh, I remembered. Power lines were down, and roads like skating rinks had been a mess. But we'd gotten through it, just like we always do. Another FaceTime opportunity and I shared the story with my grandkids over dinner that night, highlighting how community and kindness had helped us through.

"Carma," said Lucas, "why don't you just move somewhere warm?"

I laughed. "Because winter keeps me sharp," I told him. "It reminds me to prepare, to be grateful for the small comforts, and to never take an easy life for granted. Besides, how would I teach you all these lessons if I were sitting on a beach somewhere?"

As the days went on, we found more lessons in the cold. The birds flocking to the feeder reminded us of the importance of caring for others, especially in hard times. The frost patterns on the windows became an art lesson, proving that even nature's harshest moments are beautiful. And the icy sidewalks? It is a lesson in caution and patience, two qualities we could all use more of.

By the end of that winter week, my grandkid had a new perspective. He understood that winter isn't just an inconvenience; it's a season rich with lessons. He decided that a trip to Philadelphia next winter was what they needed to experience this first-hand. This wasn't the time to talk about travel delays and power outages, so the other challenges of winter would be kept for another day, another lesson.

For me, winter will always be more than snow and ice. It's a season of resilience, of finding joy during challenges. And as a grandma, it's a perfect metaphor for life—teaching my grandkids that we can face anything together with preparation, effort, and a little grit.

*Carma is my name instead of Gigi, or Granny, or Grandma