According to Lucy Van Pelt in “A Charlie Brown Christmas,” “It’s too early. I never eat December snowflakes. I always wait until January.” While Lucy may be onto something about the taste of snowflakes, to me, it’s not about the taste but the fact that we actually have snowflakes.

See, I’m a snow lover. I don’t care if it’s December or early March, the chill in the air, the flakes landing on your nose and the snow-covered ground make me happy.

Part of my love of snow probably harkens back to the days when my mom would bundle my brother and me up and send us outside with the words, “Come back in when you can’t feel your fingers,” which resulted in us using our imaginations for hours to play in the snow.

Another part is probably the result of time spent playing Fox and Goose in the snow with my grandpa while waiting for the bus to come or the hours spent examining the snow-covered fields and identifying deer, fox, rabbit, coyote and bird tracks. And of course, I can’t forget the time spent staring up into the sky trying to catch a perfect snowflake on my tongue, but instead catching them on my eyelashes and nose.

Winter was a magical time in my childhood, and I would eagerly await it each year. As a child, I remember adults telling me that as I got older, winter would lose its magic. They talked about shoveling snow, icy steps, breaking bones and joints aching due to the cold. As they droned on about their hatred of the cold, I remember thinking how sad it must be to hate half the year.

I’m in my 40s now, and while I know that is nowhere near old, I still love winter. Sure, it takes a little bit longer for my body to feel great on the crispy cold mornings, and I don’t love icy driveways the same way I did as a kid (less running as fast as possible and seeing how far I can slide in my boots because it’s a long way to the ground), but the magic of snow still captivates me.

A few years ago, it snowed really hard on Christmas Eve. I decided to bundle up and I took Bella out with me to explore the snow. As we walked in the dark with the snow coming down fluffy and fast, I realized how silent the world became when it snowed. Of course, it was midnight and a major holiday, but I’ve since come to realize that when it snows, the world becomes quieter.

In a world that can sometimes be so loud and busy, snow literally slows us down and quiets the sound. The structure of fresh fluffy snow contains tiny air pockets that actually trap sound waves. This in turn creates the silence that often accompanies a fresh snowfall. In fact, a few inches of snow can trap almost 60% of sound, and the contours of the freshly fallen snow help diffuse any additional sound. Lighter, fluffier snow has better sound absorption while wet or icy snow loses its ability to absorb sound since the air pockets are tinier and denser.

In Japan, the word “shinshin” actually describes the specific quiet that happens during and after a large snowfall. Yet snow doesn’t just quiet the world — it awakens us. There’s something about a snowfall that pulls out our inner child, reminding us how to play again.

Whether it’s snowball fights, building a snowman, snow angels, sledding, a game of Fox and Goose, or even just a quiet walk through the flakes, the power of snow to make us feel like children again is undeniable. Snow can even lift our moods by reflecting sunlight, making these gray Ohio days a little brighter.

And while I haven’t run a taste test comparison, I’m pretty sure snowflakes taste the same, no matter the month — crisp, cold and full of possibility. Lucy Van Pelt might prefer to wait until January, but for me, the real sweetness isn’t in the taste at all. It’s in the fact that we have snowflakes to catch in the first place.

Every snowfall quiets the world just enough for me to hear that small, eager voice inside — the one that still believes winter is magical. And each time a flake lands on my nose, I’m reminded that the little girl who once waited all year for snow never really disappeared; she’s just been waiting for the next snowstorm to wake her up again.

Clemson is a member of the Trumbull County Farm Bureau and completed her Ph.D. at Pennsylvania State University. She and her family farm in Mecca.