Magic of those early memories

Tyler Naughton, 5, Churton Park, giggles in delight as his father, Dan Naughton, drops a snowball on his head at the icy summit of Rimutaka Hill road on Saturday. PHOTO/ANDREW BONALLACK

I'm not in the least bit romantic about snow.

Having lived in England for a time, I will admit to being touched by watching snowflakes drift down as I strolled Oxford St, looking for a Christmas pressie before getting the overlander to Rickmansworth.

And because I grew up in the Far North, snow (or even frosts for that matter) were a near impossibility. But my thoughts on snow remain the same as in England: unless you're pointed downhill on a pair of carver skis, snow is a damn nuisance.

On Friday, when it started dropping big fluffy flakes in Masterton, most of us who had some distance to travel were wondering if we'd get home. Today, I live at the base of the notorious Rimutaka Hill Road, and I've had to make a phone call to Wellington, telling friends the lunch date isn't happening.

But what struck me on Saturday, when I went up to the summit of Rimutaka Hill Road, was the number of people who came to see the snow on the ground. For a long while, the summit car park resembled shoppers trying to get to Queensgate Mall on a Saturday.

Most families had brought children, many under 10 years old. Some would have travelled nearly an hour from their Wellington homes. And it touched me to realise that parents wanted to give their child a unique and unusual experience, of playing in snow, of throwing a snowball.

A child doesn't care about the nuisance of winter or how much petrol you have in your tank. It is a great thing when parents' hunger for a special experience for their child tops a material item they might buy him or her. A child will forget the toy, but I can remember my first experience of snow.

It might have been slight mayhem at the car park, but it's pretty cool when everyone - children and adults - are laughing together.