(Original oil painting by my father, Harry H. Watson)
Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o’er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farmhouse at the garden’s end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier’s feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.
– Ralph Waldo Emerson, “The Snow-Storm“
My Dad created this painting in 1969 and it has always been one of my favorites. Possibly because I love the snow, or perhaps because of the cozy nature of the picture, I’ve always thought it would be wonderful to sit inside this little house and feel the same warmth that spills out onto the snow through frosty windows while the twilight sky is dark and brooding. I photographed the painting today to make a Christmas card for my parents and thought I’d share it with you. The poem seemed like a good companion. It is snowing here in Nova Scotia as I write this — gigantic, wet clumps of flakes that have already made the pine trees groan in protest. Great snowball snow…if one were so inclined!