I drove through the winding narrow back roads that stretched across farmland and oil fields. There were brief moments of tall evergreen trees congregating near the mouth of the central section of the Sierra Nevada mountain range that bore more and more weight from the heavy dusting of white winter snow. I climbed the hills that were decorated with the occasional grazing cow and continued higher in elevation for my search for a small hiking trail and prepared myself mentally for the patches of ice on the black tar roads.
It was after the second patch of black ice and the passing of a second car on the side of the road putting snow chains on their tires that I decided to do the same. I struggled to put them on for a slightly embarrassing amount of time before I proudly climbed back into the driver's seat of my vehicle, now covered in snowy dirt that was melting into a muddy mixture, and continued my trek.
I ended up having to stop my car behind two other vehicles just after passing a sleepy village of rental cabins. Two sets of families exited their vehicles and asked me if there was another way up the mountain to the hiking trail.
“There is, but it’s a few hours to go around on the main road,” I responded. I could see the disappointment on their faces. Smiles turned to looks of concern as the thoughts and the idea of their family snow day began to slip away. I thought about my own family's snow days in the past. My dad used to drive the same roads when my sister and I were kids. During the winter, we would oftentimes have t turn around because we didn’t have snow chains for the blizzard-like conditions pummeling down on top of Sequoia and Kings National parks. I prepared myself with snow gear and snow chains coming back as a more experienced adult, but I was reminded of the disappointment I faced when I didn’t have access to a snow day with my family for lack of knowledge and resources.
“We’ll move over so you can go around us,” said one of the people from the group that stopped in front of me on the road. “I don’t want to risk getting stuck.” I watched as both vehicles parked off to an opening on the side of the road just before the seemingly endless landscape of snow.
“You know you could always enjoy a nice snow day right here,” I said as I pointed to a large and untouched snow embankment. There was a pristine pile of untouched snow that laid out like a brand-new carpet of bleach-white fuzz. “It is a beautiful spot,” they said before waving me off to continue on my own adventure.
I didn’t end up making it all the way up to where I wanted to go, but I did enjoy my own little snow adventure. However, the day did remind me that not everyone has access to snow days the same way I do now.
Access to the outdoors can already prove challenging for those without the proper means of transportation. Gear costs can limit others from even thinking about going outside in nature, but there is an extra layer of burden on underserved communities and those with less access to resources when you add layers of powdery white snow. Cost and lack of introduction to how to navigate winter weather keep families like the one that was ready to turn around at the first sign of awful weather from having their fun and memorable snow days. My snow day was a reminder of the privilege I have of knowing how to navigate the snow, but also how so often this isn’t the case for overlooked populations. It does make you stop and begin to think about how we can provide equal access to snow days.