I know I am in a minority on the Vineyard, but I like snow. Consequently, this past winter, with only one snowfall that I recall, has been a disappointment. So I awoke with delight on Saturday to find that all was white outdoors. Admittedly, the snowfall was light, as I learned when I went out exploring. All the same, it was snow and I could find deer and rabbit tracks in that white stuff covering my field.

The walk I took to see the snow was only a short one. It took me first as far as the town hall then back down Music street. I went as far as the gate that keeps trespassers off the former Woods property, making it a safe haven, in all seasons, for deer.

I had hoped to find the stone walls that I passed snow-covered or, at least, snow-frosted, but Friday night’s blustery wind had swept most of the snow away. Only here and there did any remain snuggled among the stones near the ground. And, of course, the trees and bushes that, in a full-fledged snowfall, blossom with white snow flowers, had been blown bare. Only here and there had snow been flung against a tree trunk and stuck, or been caught where limbs meet. And, of course, the blustery wind had swept all snow from rooftops.

All the same, there was snow and I was delighted by it.

Often when I am on a solitary walk, a verse I have once known comes to mind to keep me company. As the wind blew on my Saturday walk, I thought I was correctly remembering an old English nursery rhyme that went: “The March wind will blow, And we shall have snow, And what will poor robin do then, poor thing? He’ll sit in a barn and keep himself warm, And hide his head under his wing, poor thing.”

I was trying to remember it when I passed Dianne Powers’ house and was greeted by Fancy and Dani, two of her four Great Danes. All four (the other two are Sailor, who is elderly, and Queen Bee, who is the youngest) always greet me with impressive barks. The barking invariably convinces me to stop and gingerly pat each dog’s head. This time, Dianne was out with them and we talked over and around the barks about the snow and lack of it this past winter.

I asked her if she knew the nursery rhyme I was trying to remember. She didn’t, she said, but when I got home, the phone was ringing. Diane was calling to let me know that I was mistaken about the poem’s first line.

“It’s the north wind will blow, not the March wind,” she informed me (having just found the verse on the internet). “Now let’s see if that’s true and if it was a north wind that was blowing last night,” she continued.

And, indeed, the internet told her that Friday night the wind had come from a northerly direction.

I thanked her for her call and correction and sat down happily to write this paean to the first snow of March. I would like it not to be the last, even though all my neighbors feel quite otherwise.

As for the wind that blew the snow away and sent poor robin hiding, my book of weather lore informs me that a windy March and a rainy April will make a beautiful May.

If I can’t have snow, I’ll please my neighbors and opt for sun in May.