Winter Memory

A Winter Memory

A Story My Grandmother Told Me

By Brigitte Tennis,WA Beta Iota

The air was crisp and cool as I took my daily walk through the small forest near my house. Fragments of fog hung among the snow-laden branches of the dark evergreens. The freezing ice water quietly bubbled over the salt-and-peppercolored rocks, and I felt a sense of peace and tranquility settle over me. A few birds broke the stillness by lapsing into a sweet, lilting melody, and occasionally, I caught the sleek streak of a wild snow rabbit darting between the columns of trees in front of me. As the last rays of the golden evening sun gently touched the blanketed landscape, the delicate snow seemed to wink at me as it glistened. I was reminded of a story that my Swiss grandmother told me long ago when I was a little girl on a treasured visit to Switzerland.

My grandmother was a wonderful woman. She was rather short, about five foot, five inches, and a bit chubby. Her pale blue eyes twinkled with spirit from under her full head of once-strawberry blonde curls. My grandmother had a generous pink mouth, and, as I suppose most grandmother do, she had a lot of wrinkles. The wrinkles, though, could not hide her rosy cheeks and friendly face, which made any child feel comfortable in her presence.

One winter when I was about four years old, my grandmother took me to see a play, “The Snow Queen” at the local theater in Zurich. To this day, I remember the evil Snow Queen who was so hauntingly beautiful. She rode in a sleigh pulled by dogs, and she wore a silver crown and a white mink coat. In the winter months, she traveled around to look for people who were angry or who had stored some hatred in their hearts. She lured these people into her sleigh with her beauty and with her cool voice, and then she took them to her castle where she cast a spell on them that turned their hearts to ice. Once this happened, they felt only the “cold” feelings of hate, anger, and jealousy. The bewitched people never felt those wonderfully warm emotions of love, kindness, happiness, or joy again.

One evening, the Snow Queen came upon a little boy playing in the snow. She kidnapped the boy and turned his heart into ice. The boy’s good friend, Gretta, missed him very much and looked everywhere for him. Gretta became so desperate that she spent all of her savings to hire a small sleigh pulled by reindeer to travel the cold, snowy mountains, thinking her young friend may have gotten lost in the vast forests up there.

Gretta traveled for days. Finally, in the most cold, remote place high in the hills, she saw her friend, the boy, playing with shards of ice. Gretta was so happy to see her good friend that she jumped out of the sleigh and ran to put her arms around him. Startled, the boy looked coldly at Gretta, jerked himself out of her embrace and told her she should leave. He said he hated her and that he had been happy being alone playing with ice. He then bent down to play with the ice again and ignored her.

Gretta was so hurt by the boy’s mean response that she could only look at his back and feel the terrible loss of her friend. What had happened to her happy, loving friend? Slowly, a tear trickled down her cheek and fell, ever so softly, on the boy’s shoulder. Soon, a whole stream of tears coursed down the ruddy cheeks of the girl, all landing on the boy’s back.

When her tears had been spent, Gretta decided to give him one last hug and then do as he had asked – leave him alone. As she did, he turned around and looked into her eyes. The last of Gretta’s tears fell into his ice blue eyes and began to melt the Snow Queen’s spell. The boy’s eyes became a brighter blue, and the ice around his heart began to melt. With the spell broken, the little boy and girl hugged each other as good friends should. Gretta and the boy went back to their village in the sleigh, and both tried very hard to be good, loving, and forgiving people, so that the Snow Queen could never cast her wicked spell on them again.

Even at four years old, I enjoyed this play immensely. Not only was I enraptured by the story, but it was also wonderful to sit next to my grandmother’s love for the evening at that play. By the time we left the theater, it was dark outside, and I remember that my grandmother held my hand securely as we began our walk home. While we had been in the theater, lacy snowflakes had covered the streets, creating a clean white blanket over the town.

As we walked along the narrow cobblestone streets, the soft white light from the street lamps made the snow glitter – just as it was doing on my walk. My grandmother explained to me that wherever the snow glittered (‘glitzert’ was her word), the Snow Queen had walked. She told me that the voluminous white mink coat of the snow queen had trailed over the snow behind her and left the ice-cold sparkles. Beautiful, but it is a good reminder that beauty is not everything.

My grandmother died about fifty years ago, but I still remember the play and her own story about the glistening snow. Every time I walk among those feathery white flakes, I think of my grandma and remember her love for the theater and a good story.

And so, I took one last look at the beautiful, snowy forest scene around me, and, knowing that soon the smooth blanket of snow would be trampled with hundreds of children’s footprints, I turned, smiled at the now pale, yellow moon, and walked back towards home and the love of my family.