Yoga for Movement Disorders: Teacher Workshop
September 3, 2018
Who’ll Get the Dogs Out?
February 28, 2019
Yoga for Movement Disorders: Teacher Workshop
September 3, 2018
Who’ll Get the Dogs Out?
February 28, 2019


It doesn’t snow here

I know snow. I know that the stinging kind is never good. And while the puffy flakes call out for snowshoes, snowmen and snowball tossing, it piles up.

I grew up in Buffalo and spent two decades in New England. I know how to prep and dress for blizzards, play and drive in squalls and clear a path through the aftermath of a Nor’easter. The reason I now live on the other coast derives from knowing snow, from having too much first-hand experience with it.

Last week, the flat flakes began floating down from our western skies (“It doesn’t snow here”). It started sticking (“And if it does, it’s no more than a dusting”). Weather reports launched into increasing numbers of inches on the ground and days that schools would remain closed (“If we ever get too much, we wait for it to melt”).

Once the sideways snow softened, the scene was admittedly quite lovely as giant firs donned their finest whites.

It was also unsettling. Not the actual snow. The unease I felt centered on the reality that I had no plow guy (always contracted before October 1 back east). I had nothing on hand to clear it with because part of the moving purge involved giving away the snow shovels, donating the Sorrels. Our little house sports a quarter-mile long driveway that has never seen a plow. I didn’t even have a windshield brush in my car.

Sum total of winter storm preparedness supplies: YakTrax, push broom, hot chocolate. I tried to attack the front walk with the edging tool from the garden shed (lots of hefting for very little result). Next, I opted for the leaf blower on ice chunks (don’t try that at home, or at least not until after removing the welcome mat from the area). With caution, I could’ve forged through the frozen slush ruts to the supermarket. It wasn’t that we lacked food (the hot chocolate container hadn’t been opened yet), it was that I had no tools to tame the snow.

Tame? Did I really use that word? It occurred to me that my unease was not triggered by the lack of preparedness and tools but by the lack of control, of power over the snow.

Since I couldn’t force the snow out of my way, I waited for it to melt.

And it did, inspiring this haiku:

Shovel, push, chop, heave.

Wait. Watch, listen, resist the

plow. Paths will open.

I think I know snow much better now. Or maybe it’s me that I know a little better.


  1. Dianne Leverrier says:

    Hi Renee,

    I know this may be a weird place to tell you this but I’m pretty sure we are related tho I know I haven’t reached out much. Couldn’t resist because I too have a yoga cert and have been teaching kids’ yoga for the past couple of years…saw some similarity of thought in your post and couldn’t resist connecting! Loved your post…are you living in Buffalo? Let’s connect. Dianne

    • Renee Le Verrier says:

      Did I ever respond to your message from long ago? I wrote something.– maybe on FB? I’m a bubblehead if I never sent you a reply. How fun to have another cousin! Yes, let’s connect. BTW, I live on the west coast now. Where are you?

  2. Tess says:

    oh Renee, this is perfect … you are so talented and I thank you for sharing this with us. I do recall you saying the move was to where it didn’t snow. Alas we are in the time of climate change and global warming, of unprecedented and unexpected and definitely atypical weather. So glad you kept the yak trax <3

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