Winter On Campus: Snowy Vignettes from Crimson Arts

As the snowfall blankets the Yard and the cold temperatures call for more layers of clothing, the air turns frigid and the days grow shorter. With thesis season looming and the anticipation for warmer days growing, it becomes all the more important to find moments of warmth amid the winter’s steady lull.

Read on for some of The Crimson’s Arts Board’s favorite memories of winter on campus.

In Absence of the Warmth

Southerners know the winter as the wild animals know their reflection: fleeting and all the while terrified of it. And yet, it has grown dearly on me nonetheless.

Winter to me is the smell of chestnuts my father roasts in the oven and leftover pine needles. I hadn't always recalled the season as more than a slightly stronger February breeze; my car windows remained down, the heater just barely on underneath 106.7 FM. Although I hail from the Christmas Capital of Texas, our Main Street remains consistently snow-barren.

Before I returned to campus, my grandmother stitched the buttons back onto her old coat, the one she never had to wear. I rolled it back inside a suitcase full of crocheted scarves and kleicha, the pastries my family spent hours kneading. It felt like being sent off to some sort of war, marked by the incessant drones of “bless your heart” whenever I mentioned I was off to Boston in January.

After a month in its midst, I cannot stop myself from admiring the beauty of a Cambridge winter. Foggy glasses after a bundled-up walk to class; the night sky pale from the relentless reflection of white; a frozen Charles glistening on the way to Park Street.

Marking the way of those before and awaiting those after, the footsteps left on the snow-dusted brick paths are particularly my favorite. Even when my eyes tear up from the biting wind or I slip down the icy stairs of Grays Hall, I have come to romanticize our weather and in the shared excitement of what it brings. Even when the sun sets before 4 p.m. or I hear of my hometown taking the week off for half an inch of snow.

From dining hall tray sledding down the steps of Widener to communal snowball fights, winters on campus are far from frigid.

—Staff writer Maia M. Abed can be reached at [email protected].

A Greek Winter

I wonder about satisfaction. How it’s derived. I imagine it feels something like a night out through the piercing Boston winter.

I remember it vaguely. In our freshman naivety, we lined up for hours beside one of the Boston University frat houses. With a clan of fifty other college students, we foolishly stood, hoping there existed something grand inside. While other students exited, boasting as they called out to us, “It’s not worth it,” we waited and waited — the crowd unphased by such a clear warning. Then, finally, we were let in.

A sticky basement, mostly empty inside. Faint music humming over the dry bar. Our bodies boiled in the basement’s heat. Within minutes, we left. We knew the inside of the frat wasn’t special. The brothers knew it too. But the people outside didn’t quite believe it yet. As we let the soothing cold air embrace us, in an act of futility, we called to the rest, “It’s not worth it.” But of course, no one budged.

It’s a funny thing, satisfaction.

—Staff writer Anat Goldstein can be reached at [email protected].

Snowy Runs

I have always wondered what it was like to live somewhere with seasons. As a California native through and through, I treat precipitation as a rarity — oftentimes, a pleasant delight. I have been spoiled by the predictability of the sun, the sky always jolly blue. The weather has never been on my mind when I lace up my shoes for an outdoors run.

Cambridge, however, has taught me to scroll the weather app first thing every morning, learning the astronomical difference between 10 and 20 degrees Fahrenheit. On a Friday morning, my friend and I decided to brave the cold by running in the snow. With the paths cleared from last weekend’s snowstorm, we ran, snaking through Central Square and Boston, then walking back along the Charles River Esplanade trails.

The river is frozen over now, glazed like a frosty mirror; stare long enough and you may sense the ice beneath shift. Running on the bridges that cross over the Charles feels like running on top of clouds.

Growing up, my father used to say on long runs: “If you want to know a place, run through it. You’ll learn its hills and habits, the hidden turns, your favorite place to sunbathe and catch your breath. It’ll become your home.”

During these winter months, I am tempted to hibernate — to sleep until right before my 10:30 a.m, class. But this cold weather grants me the most lovely parts of running — the comfort of my feet pit-pattering, the warm heat radiating from a running partner, the shy sun when it chooses to show its face, the misty breath of air visible before me.

By learning to choose to run, especially when it would be easier not to, I am choosing to belong here at Harvard. To run is to inhabit a better place both within my body, and within a city where weather is not always kind.

—Staff writer Cloris F. Shi can be reached at [email protected].

Snow Much to Do, Snow Little Time

Coming from the South, I’m not accustomed to seeing snow. Within the past five years, I would consider myself lucky if my hometown received half an inch — extra lucky if it stuck and lasted for more than a day.

When I arrived back on campus last month, the dread of New England’s cold temperatures was quickly superseded by my surprise at the scenery around me. Although I had seen hefty snow pile up in Harvard Yard as a freshman, I was still impressed by its beauty. When the snowstorm arrived that same weekend, I was in even more awe.

Time seems to stop once snow hits the ground around here. While snow may be a pain to deal with for most — including myself on the days when I’m trekking to classes and it has yet to melt — I can’t help but take a second to appreciate the wonder of nature. I often think about how each singular snowflake is different from the rest, and for some reason, the thought of that gives me immense hope for the future.

At Harvard, there’s almost a secret mandate to be involved in as many organizations as you can be, or to take as many classes as you can to get ahead on requirements. Our time here is limited, yet we’re often too busy to remember that. When it snows on campus, I realize how fortunate I am to get to chart a path that doesn’t have to look like everyone else’s. I am privileged to witness and admire rare winter spectacles, and through that, I’m reminded to take a pause and reflect on what matters most to me.

Each January, I get a new chance to be meaningful and intentional with my values, friendships, and involvements. The beginning of my spring semester is made all the better with snow, and for the chance to be on a campus where that happens, I am forever grateful.

—Staff writer Emily G. Fallas-Chacon can be reached at [email protected].

Starling Bird

On a cold winter morning
How I miss my starling bird
Now it’s left without a warning
Fled of all the fields it stirred

Hidden by the seas afar
Where the lush trees veil its wings
Not a worry, not a scar
In the sound of what it sings

Oh to be that very creature!
To have that soft silken touch
To soar and to seek leisure
And the skies within my clutch

To make music in the leaves
And to pierce in winding paths
The mists that veil the eaves
And the snow that falls like ash

Come back to me my lark, and
Unwind this weave of words
Which I stitch within my garden
While awaiting your return

On a cold winter morning
My pillow, damp with all my tears
That lament the foregone winds of spring
And the pain of my lost years

—Staff writer Anastasia Poliakova can be reached at [email protected].