It was a slow snow last week, the kind of storm we have not seen in many years.

Usually if we get anything more than a dusting it arrives in the form of a nor’easter. The snow comes fast and furious, sometimes at the rate of more than an inch an hour. The accumulation is a factor of how quickly the storm passes. Three to four inches pile up quickly, and storms lasting the day or night leave behind amounts to challenge even hard-core shovelers.

Although it wreaked havoc in other parts of the country, the latest bout of cold weather showed its gentle side to Rhode Island. It snowed off and on. It filled the air with tiny fluffy flakes that didn’t stick at first but ultimately sugar coated branches and smoothed over the terrain.

For confirmed “keep it clean” types, it was either a diversion from the indoor seclusion forced upon us by this pandemic or a test in frustration. With barely more than an inch, out came the snow blowers and shovels as soon as the skies brightened and it looked to be over. But it wasn’t done. There was more to come, not only once but several times, before forecasters gave the “all clear” early Saturday.

What did we get in Warwick? Hardly four inches.

My sister, Claire, who lives in western Massachusetts, got two to three times that.

“Finally, a winter we can call winter,” she said Sunday morning. She was delighted. I hadn’t thought of it that way, but she’s right. Recent winters have offered dismal performances. With temperatures bouncing around freezing, we’ve gotten sticky, slushy stuff unworthy of sledding at Gorton or making more than a midget snowman.

This winter is different. Snow banks line parking lots and I know, since I also get the same calls, that the mayor has been reminded that homeowners, businesses and even the city are failing to abide by city ordinance and shovel sidewalks in front of their properties. They have a point, but really, are a few inches of snow that big a deal?

Those inches are important if you’re a skier.

On Sunday I decided it was time to hit the Warwick slopes. Yes, there are more than one, although slopes is hyperbole. For my cross-country skiing outings, I picked Rocky Point and Confreda fields. There were no crowds, no lines, some dogs and people enjoying being outside. The walks at both places were down to the pavement, which made good sense to me, and the fields and woods offered lots of skiing. I found ski tracks at both locations, but no skiers. One couple I encountered at Rocky Point volunteered that they love cross-country skiing and would be driving to New Hampshire this week.

I thought to ask them, why drive when there is so many good places right here? Instead, I pushed on.

The slow snow and no wind made for good cover. The snow was crisp and fast – ideal.

At Confreda I joined Carol and Ollie who walked the loop while I stayed to the fields. We connected at one point, pausing to breathe in the fresh air and linger in the warmth of the sun.

“It feels like spring,” she said. She was right.

The next best thing to a good winter is a good spring. Maybe we’re in for a good one, but before that let’s enjoy the snow. Carol and Ollie did just that.

Carol penned this poem when we got home:

Why do I love the snow?

I don’t know. I really did want

Old Winter to go!

But, Oh,

How I love the snow.

It makes me go

Out in the cold;

It breathes new life …

… Talks back to my boots.

Make new tracks

Where there were none.

Glitter of color ...

When there is sun.

Let the winds blow

And make its sounds,

But quiet snow can bless the ground.

“Whose woods these are, I think I know.”

This can be real wher’ere you go

when there is snow,

The white and bright

Can clear your sight

And welcome you

In darkest night.

Oh, how I love the snow …

I hate to see it go.

But flowers come,

And birds you know,

So plunge in now.

Tho’ snow will go.

You’ll play again,

Dogs even know.

Carol bo Howell