Snow

Advent Adventures

I have a folder in my computer called “Deb’s Poetry.” There are a few in there I don’t remember writing. The one below is one of them… But before we get to that, let’s talk about advent. Advent for me is pregnancy. Literally. Waiting for an arrival. A child. Our birth child’s due date was Christmas Day. They stretched the date (and me) out until December 30th. But before then…

Snow began falling, piling deep, historically deep for this neck of the woods, all through the night here on Whidbey Island. Karl had been sick—so sick I was setting broth outside the door of the room where I had abandoned (banned!) him. Though I’m from northern Minnesota, where snow wasn’t the issue it is here on Whidbey (because we knew what to do with it), snow like that is definitely an issue on this sweet island. We might get a dusting or two, and once in a decade or so, things will shut down for a bit, and I can get out my cross-country skis, but this one was a record holder. And that’s when I went into labor.

When the ones who were going to be at the birth couldn’t make it, our two dear friends, Ann and Christina, both past Minnesotans, got in their snow-appropriate vehicle and made it to the hospital in Coupeville. But hours before that…

The ferries shut down. I watched the snow all night between contractions. Spent time on the phone with nurses, the state patrol, friends… When Karl’s sister called WA State DOT about the ferries, she said she had to get to the island to be at her sister-in-law’s birth. Their response? “Oh, Deb Lund?”

Roads were buried, one of the county’s snow plows was stuck at the ferry. The other plow (yes, two), which once we were on the road with our neighbor (who had spent time with his grandfather in Minnesota), sped past us with its plow up to head down to help the stuck plow. What? Couldn’t slow down enough to at least lower that plow for half of the a road? We guessed where the road was all the way (a skill you also acquire from Minnesota driving) and made it in plenty of time—PLENTY being an understatement that had nothing to do with making good time on the road.

The night there at the hospital, with electricity going out, employees in headlamps, and my doctor who walked a long way to get there for me, was only part of the excitement. I’ve often thought I should write an essay called, “How I was Duped by the Natural Childbirth Movement.” I’ll stop with the details here, except to say that after 44 hours of labor and six hours of pushing, finally feeling our baby’s head, and hearing, “The head might make it, but those shoulders wont’t,” I had a C-section.

That story prompted my first book contract, which I sent to the executive director of HarperCollins children’s books, because I didn’t know better, but it worked. Tell Me My Story, Mama is no longer in print, though it had star reviews from everywhere that counted, but it it were, a few changes would need to be made. But that’s a story I’ve told before and will again—one of those many publishing mishaps that this beginning author didn’t know much about at the time, but does now.

By the way, all those birth details I shared were condensed into something like, “The doctors helped you find your way out, and it took a very long time.” The rest is about the joy of hearing our stories.

And now, with our power out (but the generator running for a bit so I can type this in here and get it up for you to read), and though a part of me is wondering, “Did I really write this piece from the Deb’s Poem’s folder?,” here you go!

Oh, and this… Whatever you’re waiting for, whether you’re on your way to Bethlehem, down a snowy road over the river and through the wood, or anxious for your own stories to take shape, I wish you well, with sweet surprises along the way until you reach whatever has called you to wait. And if your waiting requires action, take some time to encourage those sweet young parts of you that they are up for the trip. I hope to help you with that in the new year. Please ask for what you want and need. And also, please—Enjoy the adventure!

When Snow Falls

When snow falls like rice tossed at a wedding, I am an ant, unaware, busy, blind, burrowing, living within the lines, empty and full, not missing what I don’t know to miss. On auto go-deep, deplete, repeat.

When snow falls like a shaken snow globe, I am the heart that holds seeds to sow. Moistened, present, patient. An advent season of wonder ahead, beheld in the cold-warm breath of new beginnings.

When snow falls like a shade that’s been lowered, I am pregnant. Swelled and full, like a squirrel storing nuts to crack open as needed. A bear, bared, heartbeat slowed, underneath, inside, a solstice of self.

When snow falls like an erupting volcano, I am pummeled and polished like an agate. Agitated and recreated, the avalanche of chaos orders itself. Water breaks, ice melts, and the river delivers the one I will be.