|The boys heading to the bus stop.|
When I was growing up, in Oregon, it only snowed once or twice a year. Big, wet flakes would create a slush-like covering of an inch or so on the ground. Everything would grind to a halt. No school, stores closed, and necessity driving only until everything melted--which usually didn't take long.
I attended college in Utah. Snow is a little more common there, though it most often comes in the dry powdery form. Utah never had snow days. Ever. I remember trudging through snow up to my knees to get to class, my nose feeling numb, and my wet hair literally frozen when I arrived at my destination. I hated it. I hated that I had to go to school in that weather. I wanted my Oregon days of curling up in front of the wood stove with my quilt made by Grandma and a good book. So every year I gifted myself a snow day. The first snow of every season I didn't go to class. It made me resent all the rest of the snowy days a little less.
|A pretty bush in our front yard.|
And then we lived in New Hampshire, where the snow starts in late October and doesn't end until early April. I would've given anything to go back to the Utah weather during those years. It's so, so cold, all winter long, that the snow just doesn't melt. It piles, and piles, and piles. And the wind. Oh, the wind! Six months of winter. Boooooo!
|Out my back window.|
Today is our first Pennsylvania snow storm. I love the quiet peace that comes with a snowfall. No one is on the road unless they have to be, the kids are at school, and I look out my windows to watch huge, fluffy flakes falling to the ground. I still don't love snow (don't ask me to go skiing!), but I've made peace with it. It just feels right this time of year.