Ode To A Snowflake (1960)
Behold, the Snowflake
So lovely and fair
Blow it a kiss
And *poof* it’s not there.
Remember when we were kids and we could stomp on snowflakes in the playground without getting sent to the principal’s office?
Not to sound like my Grandma, but I miss those days.
I’m puzzled by the muzzle on language
How a word’s “in” and then it’s “out”
What we can say
Changes day-by-day
Who gave Merriam-Webster such clout?
Sliding with the Semantic Shift
Words might be chiseled into stone and preserved for centuries, but their meanings are not. A word’s definition is more like a river, altering course over time. It can get wider, narrower, even modify directions. The fancy term for this word transformation is “semantic shift”. The phrase simply describes the way words change connotations through the years.
“Spinster.” “Silly.” “Awful.” If our great-great-granddaddies heard us use those words today, they wouldn’t have a clue what we were talking about. That change is inevitable. It’s perfectly fine.
If only we could choose which words to change and which to preserve.
The Fall of the Snowflake
Which brings us back to “snowflake”. This innocent word has been kidnapped and brainwashed in recent years. Once upon my childhood it meant a beautiful ice crystal drifting down from the chilly skies. Today it is a political term referring to wimps and wussies who melt under the tiniest pressure.
By the way, Winter just called. It wants the word back. Untarnished. Unsullied. As
pure as the new-fallen…
Oh, never mind.
We had it right in grade school. Back then, snowflakes were fragile miracles that we celebrated with glee. We cut their likeness from construction paper and hung them from the ceiling. We studied them on our mittens. We caught them midair with our tongues.
The rules of the snowflake were simple and trustworthy. Always six-sided. No two snowflakes ever alike. They were exquisite pieces of artwork falling from heaven.
To our parents, snow meant poor road conditions and wet tracks on the floor through the house. For us, snow was free entertainment. School’s snow delays were gifts from above—literally. Snow was a really big deal. As a child I was intrigued by the idea that expert Eskimos had seven words for “snow”. Wow. The snow-pros up in the land of endless brilliant whiteness had it down to a science. That was impressive even to a kid.
Igloo Intrigue
Then we grew up, and snow removal became a regular line item in the household budget. Worse yet, Princeton professors (among others) debunked the Eskimo myth, pointing out two obvious facts: 1) The general Eskimo population of our youth was actually several separate cultures, each with their own language, hence, multiple words for snow; and 2) Even eager little Minnesota kids had numerous words for snow to describe sleet, drifting, blizzard, flurries, etc., further destroying the wondrous “tongue of the tundra”.
And if that wasn’t terrible enough, political snarkiness grabbed a hold of the beauteous snowflake – not for the first time – and the magical wonder of each little crystal formation was blown to smithereens. So, here we are, caught between the delightful wonder of our childhood and the sarcastic wisdom of today…
Pity the poor little snowflakes
As upon my mitten they melt
Though harsher still
With icy daggers we kill
The emotions that meeker souls felt.
Disclaimer: No Snowflakes were harmed in the telling of this tale.
So which snowflake definition should we embrace—the miracle or the meek? Do we have a choice? Can a word ever revert to its original innocence, or has the snowflake been tainted permanently (at least for this generation)?
A curious thing I’ve noticed in studying semantic shifts is that words never seem to return to their original meanings. In all likelihood, “spinster” will never again mean “a worker who spins yarn.” “Awful” will probably never again mean “full of awe.” It appears the river of meaning shifts, but never reverses.
If that’s the case, the glittering snowflaked bulletin boards of our childhood will soon disappear, replaced by pictures of snowflakes participating in protests and retreating to their safe spaces. It won’t be the same.
The Frosting on the Flake
But just chill for a second. If you think today’s flakes are a fluke of too many fatty foods and SpongeBob SquarePants, it’s time to take our heads out of the snowdrifts and ask two honest questions: 1) who are these snowflakes, and 2) where did these Generation-Wuss snowflakes come from?
The answer to both questions is—they belong to us. They’re our grandchildren, our neighborhood children, our community’s children. We’re not talking about “those” kids. We’re talking about “our” kids. Blame their family (or lack of it), blame their school, blame Youtube. The truth, however, is that we as a society also nourished these snowflakes, either by our actions or our inactions.
As they say in Africa—where it seldom snows—“It takes a village to raise a child.” You could say that we’re the snow piles they land on. What does a child learn when he or she encounters yours?
New-Fallen Snow
How beautiful! How pristine! How unstained…for about a minute. This snow pile is high maintenance. Its good looks are most striking from a distance, so it’s usually stand-offish and disconnected from the rest of the world. It certainly can’t survive the daily grind along the highways of humanity without destroying its pure reputation. It would rather melt than be dragged down to the level of one of “those” gritty lower-class snow piles.
Wet-Blanket Snow
The heavy snow piles accumulate swiftly and put a damper on snowmen building and Minnesota ice fishing. Yes, it serves the purpose of offering needed moisture to the world underneath it, but at the cost of achy muscles and collapsed roofs. Given time, the piles dissolve to either become tectonic plates of hazardous ice, or chilly puddles of slush. Either way, the piles always manage to bring down those who cross their path.
Blowing Snow
The snow hanging around with these piles always has a lot to say and often says it quite loudly. It interrupts and obstructs day-to-day matters with its shifting shapes of opinions and ever-changing suggestions. Not surprisingly, blowing snow seldom sticks around long enough to see the consequences of its actions. It claws at the helpless and knocks over resisters, but the blustery billows are never around to repair and rebuild what their fury destroyed.
The Snow Flurries
The flurries are an ill-defined mixture and hard to label because they lack
purpose. They come and go as they please without thought to others’ plans. They may arrive silently or blow in with the blusters. No effort is made to settle down or create piles for shelter or protection. When all is said and done, they never amount to much. They rarely accumulate, moderate or insulate the habitat around them. The flurries merely hang around to annoy everyone.
The Snow Bank
If only the world had more sturdy snowbanks! They settle down across the countryside, investing in the world around them. These refreshing cold mounds protect the ground, shelter the wildlife, and act as barriers along the roads from the dangerous snow finger drifters—even though it means eroding and growing gray. Every rabbit trail upon the snowbank is like a string of pearls across its glittering surface. In the winter sunlight its blanket of glistening gems invites everyone to leave their footprints mingled together for all to see.
Ode to A Snowflake (2020)
Behold, the Snowflake
Floating by without direction
Make it part of your snowbank
And turn rejection into connection.