TUCSON

WHEN TEXT IT BY SNOWS KAREN IN THURE TUCSON

A new playmate, a fluffy toy: snow in the desert makes you feel giddy, like a child again. You want to run, shout, laugh, do all those spontaneous things you did before you grew up. Snowstorms are so rare in Tucson that people greet the flakes with glad surprise. And no wonder. They're innocent, lamb-like flakes that bring no power outages, salt trucks, or gritty slush. Occurring once every few years (or several times during an unusual winter), snow envelops the city in a camaraderie of shared delight. Even winter visitors enjoy the postcard novelty. Conversation is monopolized by the weather. "Smells like snow, all right," observes the gas station attendant. "Weatherman says two inches," remarks a mother in the Laundromat. Outside, her two little girls frolic like baby dragons, puffing plumes of breath-smoke into the bracing air. People on the sidewalks glance at the gauzy sky. Behind the clouds, the sun gleams like a pewter plate. By the time the first flakes appear, the city is filled with anticipation. The ear-liest crystals melt onto the pavement, then gather into feathery mounds that begin to stick. Snowflakes tingle inside your collar

(ABOVE) Downtown

Tucson wears a winter coat in this view taken from a nearby hillside.

(RIGHT) Hardy desert

Plants sparkle under a coating of ice and snow in the Santa Catalinas.

and fuzz together on the shoulders of your sweater. In no time, snowy clumps are clinging to electric poles, mesquite trees, and bougainvillea vines. Saguaros wear ridiculous tufts of white. The harsh desert landscape grows blurred and gentle. Snow softens the mountains into a beauty emanating from form, a harmony of whiteness shadowed with violet.

Throughout the city, kids and grown-ups alike are lobbing snowballs at passing cars, at teachers, at each other. The University of Arizona mall becomes an all-day battleground.

Children who've never seen snow rush outdoors to enjoy play they've only read about in storybooks or seen in movies. Names get traced on frosty windows, and snow angels spread their wings in backyards. Toddlers are often shocked to find that the snow is wet and chilly. After a few uncomfortable minutes, they hurry back into warm playrooms.

Not many youngsters have the right kind of clothing; many Tucson stores don't even sell snow gear. So plastic bags serve as galoshes, and socks work fine as mittens. The snowmen the kids are making will never know the difference.

Desert snowmen are puny compared to those in cities with regular snowfalls. Even after a good storm, the supply of building material is patchy. “Our kids’ snowmen usually contain plenty of leaves, twigs, and dirt,” observes suburban parent Bill Miles. “The snow is so thin that lots of the yard gets rolled up into those balls.” Newspaper front pages often feature color shots of snowmen along with pictures of kids sliding down hills on makeshift sleds.

The best sliding happens on Mount Lemmon, only an hour's drive from the city. Sledders on forest hillsides wave to passing hikers, themselves exhilarated by sun and wind and snow. A few miles away, skiers ride high over the pine trees

(FAR LEFT) Socks double as mittens for Matthew Nehrmeyer when a storm dumps a foot of cold white fun on the ground. (LEFT) Riding in an open-air jeep can be fun for a dog except when an unexpected snowstorm hits the desert. BOTH BY GARY GAYNOR

The same sense of mystery cloaks the desert outside the city, and beckons the curious. "Believe it or not, outdoor attrac-tions like the Saguaro National Monument draw a good share of visitors on snowy days," says park ranger Mary Doll. "There's no more spectacular sight than snow on olive-green saguaros, especially when the sun breaks through the clouds."

Along nature trails, the tracks of desert animals race in crazy patterns through the snow. You recognize the geometrical hop of a rabbit, the swagger of a roadrunner, the pinprick scurry of a mouse. Beside them your shoe prints look gigantic; your footfalls sound loud and intrusive.

Colts race in wild circles around their corrals. Mule deer quiver their noses, probing the oystery scent of the snow. As the twilight thickens, coyotes stab through the silence with giddy howls.

Safe in their homes, people seem to enjoy an inner quiet. Logs crackle in corner fireplaces while some reminisce about the storms of their snow-country childhoods.

The next morning almost always brings sunshine, creating the world afresh. The vast snowy desert glitters. Frost traces its delicate network on trees and cacti. Lifted on clean-smelling breezes, snow puffs into your face like powdered sugar.

The morning brings a sense of well-being. For the moment, at least, with the desert snow quietly melting, you can believe all is right with the world.

snowflakes and sunshine YOU CAN GIVE IT ALL

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