Oh, to be back home! Here's a photo of my childhood home, taken last week.
This is what Michiganders call "lake-effect snow," buckets of fat, white flakes dumped in a matter of days. I miss the snow, but not necessarily the frigid cold temps. What I really miss are the sounds of winter: the eerie hush of a snow-laden pine forest with only the rhythmic "shmunch, shmunch" of gliding skis to break the silence - the hollow sound of car tires on an icy road - the familiar stomping of boots outside the door to let you know Dad was about to come inside. I have fond memories of praying my car would make it up the slippery driveway; timing my shifting and acceleration so as not to get stuck on the crest of the hill 10 feet in front of the garage (and not rocketing through the back wall, either!).
Winter driving pulls up a whole other set of memories: my best friend and I taking turns with near-miss accidents, calling my beau (Steve) to come pull me out of the ditch, spinning doughnuts in the parking lot, guessing where the road is during white-outs, thawing the ice in my door lock while standing in a blizzard in my cheerleading uniform, whacking a peep-hole through 1/4" of ice on the windshield (and driving that way!), bucking snow drifts after a wedding....
But Winter is a fickle woman; dad wrote to say last week's snow pictured above is nearly melted away.