It wasn’t quite the big storm they were predicting, but still, four inches of snow is fitting, given that it’s January and we have had nary a flake all winter. Hubby has been out all day snowplowing, and will head straight for the bathtub when he gets home. The neighborhood kids were sledding on what passes for elevation around here in front of the elementary school. I loved sledding as a kid and probably spent as much time outside during winter as summer, growing up in the Chicago burbs. I remember cruel and beautiful winters full of sledding, ice skating, cross-country skiing, and building snow forts. One winter the snow was so deep, my brother and I climbed on the roof and jumped off into the drifts—much to the chagrin of our parents, who found out later. Mom wasn’t too happy that we had disconnected on end of her clothes line and tossed it over the garage roof to use as a climbing aid.
I spent the morning making four different kinds of soup: split pea with ham, turkey chili, beef vegetable, and black bean sausage. I’ll share some of it with a friend who’s suffering an illness and finding it exhausting to cook for her family.
Our bird bath heater keeps the feathered ones happy (although the basin could use a scrub). The greenhouse is relatively toasty inside, harboring baby kale and other greens, as well as potted perennials I hope will survive into the spring. A refreshing walk revealed delicately balanced ice crystals on leaves and branches. The crunch of snow underfoot makes me think of corn starch.