I remember praying for snow when I was a little girl. There was nothing as exciting as seeing the briefest mention of snow on the 6 o’clock news. I’d wake up before my alarm clock the next morning and peek outside for the white stuff. If the good Lord had heard my fervent pleas for snow, the ground would be blanketed already or there would be big fat luscious flakes falling from the sky. We would turn to the Snow Bird and Bill Hall on Channel 4 for their wintry weather guidance and I’d zoom in on our county to see if it was blacked out, meaning schools were closed.
One of my favorite memories of snow as a kid is getting our family’s big old tobbogan out of the garage/barn. My dad would pull it behind the tractor on our flat pasture and when it built up enough speed the snow would spray your face and you’d have to squint from the icy blast. I remember making snowmen and snow angels and playing with my dogs outside and getting so wet and cold I’d come in and warm up in front of our woodburning stove until I got so hot I couldn’t stand it and I’d have to turn around and warm my other side. I remember those rare days when it would start snowing while I was at school. We kids could barely contain ourselves from the excitement and we’d run to the windows and look outside.
Caitlin was so excited last night when we told her there might be a little bit of snow today when she woke up. It was barely spitting tiny anorexic flakes outside this morning and she rushed to the front window. “Mama, I want big snow. I want bigger and bigger snow.”
Me, too Caitlin. I’m ready to play in the snow. (As long as we’re stocked up on milk and toilet paper).