Dargan winters remind me of ‘Stopping by woods on a Snowy Evening’

You know, one of my favorite writers is Robert Frost and one very neat short poem by this poet is ‘Stopping by woods on a Snowy Evening’.

It seems that Frost imagines himself riding his little horse through the countryside on a winter night, between the woods and frozen lake.  The horse’s harness bells shake, "the only other sounds are the sweep of easy wind and downy flake."

As I think about my winters back in the early 1960s, I am reminded of Frost’s first and last stanzas.

His poem opens with a view of winter:

"Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods, fill up with snow."

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As I first read this poem many years ago, I thought for sure that poet Frost had fixed his eyes upon the Dargan Boy.

His description of a winter’s day conjured up a similar feeling of my own youth as I watched the Dargan woods cover up with snow myself.

I remember many days of bygone years observing snowflakes, tiny at first, then growing larger as the swirling winds would soon cover the fields and paths through the woods with a majestic white blanket. All of nature would soon sleep.

In my grandmother’s house there was always a warmth around that old "Home Comfort" wood stove.  My cousin Pee Wee and I would make sure that the dry wood and kindling’s would be cut and packed into our nearby wood shelter, and some was also stacked on our front porch.

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I will always remember how that old stove kept our home warm as our grandmother would feed that heating vessel. She would also cook sometimes on top of the stove in those old black cast iron skillets.

A nearby gas stove served as a second utility source for providing meals. Each night before sleep found us, the embers of the wood stove would be fading.

Grandma was always afraid of house fires, so she would not load any more wood into the stove late at night and rise early in the morning to rekindle.

As Pee Wee and I came down the second-floor steps, Grandma Gen would always have a fire started in the stove.

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Some days, after washing up a bit, from that tiny white-water basin on the stove’s heated surface, and having some breakfast, Pee Wee and I would put on some warm clothes, gloves and coats and venture out into the elements.

A path to the outhouse was shoveled first thing.

A check of our homemade rabbit boxes would be next.

If we saw a box nearby and discovered the trap door down, we knew quickly that we most likely had caught something.  Occasionally the wind might trigger the door, but most times we had a critter trapped.

A rabbit would be nice. as Grandma would always fry them up for a meal or two.  A trapped skunk or possum would not be so nice; leaving the box door open would provide an escape route for these panicky animals.

Winters were filled with many assets. Our 10-gallon metal can of drinking and cooking water was nearby, wood box was full, batteries for lights in supply and visits from neighbors a winter must.

Food was always good following the holidays — cookies, fruit cakes, homemade root beer with yeast and normally a ham or chicken could be had. Fried rabbit was not out of the question either.

And if Grandma made some of her homemade chicken soup, well, that was just about the best meal one might have on a snowy night with crackers and sour pickles.

As the snow grew deeper, school was never much of a concern, for digging the roads out in Dargan was not done in a day or two. There would be no school bus stopping at the crossroads during the deep heavy snows.

Card games with neighbors were a favorite pastime.

No telephone or computer to keep you company and only a few channels on the TV to grab your attention.

Winters in Dargan were something special, and so was the last stanza of Robert Frost’s poem:

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,

But I have promises to keep.

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep."

I often think of Frost riding his little horse through Dargan during a snow storm; and as a grownup today, I often recite these very words as I leave out for my own little winter adventure.

I hope you enjoy your "snowy evening" while the earth sleeps.

Pete Waters is a Sharpsburg resident who writes for The Herald-Mail.

This article originally appeared on The Herald-Mail: ‘Stopping by woods on a Snowy Evening’