Winter Magic of My Childhood

Winter has always carried a special kind of magic for me. When I look back at my childhood, I don’t remember just cold days and snow—I remember a world that felt endless, bright, and alive. Everything seemed bigger then. The snow was deeper, the nights were quieter, and even the simplest moments felt full of meaning. My parents didn’t have much money, but they knew how to turn ordinary days into unforgettable memories.

One winter stands clearly in my mind. There was a lot of snow that year, the kind that covers everything and makes the world silent. I wanted a Christmas tree like everyone else, but my parents didn’t have the time or money to buy one. Instead of disappointment, my father offered me something better—an adventure.

He took me with him to a friend who had a big pine tree in his garden. I was a very active child, always climbing and running, so when he told me we would climb the tree together to choose the best branch, I felt pure excitement. We climbed into the cold air, our hands numb, until we found the perfect branch—full, green, almost shaped like a real Christmas tree.

We cut it and dragged it home through the snow. It was already evening, and that made everything feel magical. The garden lights reflected on the snow, sparkling like candles. The silence, the crunch of snow under our feet, the soft glow all around us—it felt as if winter itself was welcoming us home. We weren’t just bringing a branch; we were bringing magic.

When I was six, I had one specific wish: a toy Kalashnikov rifle. It seems funny now to think of a child wanting such a thing, but to me, it was the ultimate treasure.

On next Christmas morning, I found it waiting for me under the tree. I didn’t want to play with it in the bright living room; I wanted "stealth." I immediately crawled under the bed into the shadows, pulling the trigger to watch the red lights flash and listen to the electronic firing sounds. In that moment, in the dark beneath the mattress, I was a fierce young warrior. The "unforgettable feelings" of that morning still bring a smile to my face. In that small shadowy space, completely lost in imagination and joy.

Back then, winters were real winters—long, white, and full of snow. One year, my brother bought me a snow sled, and from that moment on, I spent almost every day outside. I raced downhill with other kids, competing, laughing, climbing back up again and again until sunset.

But one of my proudest childhood decisions came through a trade next years. I became the only child in the area who had wooden skis. I exchanged my hand made sled, with a neighbor’s kids, that was other sled, and to me, it was the best deal in the world. I taught myself to ski without fear, falling often, laughing even more. I wasn’t afraid of bruises or cold—I was too busy feeling free.

What made all those winters truly special was that our family was always together. My grandmother and grandfather lived downhill from us, in the same garden, so visits were part of everyday life. One of the most beautiful traditions was the New Year visit. In the evening, relatives would gather and walk together to sing traditional New Year wishes. The sound of voices in the cold night air, the warmth inside the house, the feeling of belonging to something old and meaningful—those moments stayed deep inside me.

Looking back now, I understand that the magic of winter didn’t come from expensive toys or perfect conditions. It came from a father who climbed trees, a mother who understood a child’s imagination, and a family that stayed close when the world outside was frozen.

That is the winter magic I remember.

That is the winter magic I still carry with me. ❄️✨