A Day of Winter

When the onslaught of summer heat finally dissipates, the children often remark on the “smell of snow” when they go outside. It seems our area of Texas has two seasons – “hot”  and “warm with a chance of cold”. Anything below hot is when they start waiting for snow. These boys of ours love to be in the dirt, but they also seem to thrive in the cold like their Mama.

But much of winter is the on-again, off-again of cold fronts blowing through followed by 80 degree days, like the day we planted those fruit trees. It makes me wonder how anything survives with the confusion of the seasons. Somehow, some of it does.

So, when frozen precipitation comes our way – even if it’s the ice pellets some refer to as “snow” – great excitement ensues. Sleds are built. Hats are donned. Mama ushers them out the door “quick… before it melts”. Winter comes but one day a year around here, not the six months I remember as a child.

Elijah spent a good deal of time putting this sled together and then pulled his sister around on the icy road for as long as he could. The next day he woke up complaining of sore arms.

I wonder why.