Getting dressed to go out in the snow takes a lot of work. First, snow pants.
Finally, mittens. Or socks, when Mom can’t find my mittens.
Here’s the slope! We walked. It’s right by our house, across from Woodfill Elementary. We didn’t go down that hill, though. Mom and Dad said it was too big—at least this year.
We walked across Winkler Fields to a much smaller hill. I think Dad was more excited than I was.
I didn’t yell or scream, but I did close my eyes. And at the end of each run I said very, very quietly, “again?”.
Mom spent much of the time at the top of the hill, taking pictures (and taking care of the babies).
But Dad said the hill was very slow so she took me down once.
Mom and Dad know that I’m contemplative and reserved when it comes to new things. But my constant whispers of “again?” “again?” proved to them I liked it.
So Dad took me on the side of the big hill for one last run.
Down and …
down we went.
Really, it was fun.
And I spent the next few days insisting socks went on my hands—not my feet.
“The first fall of snow is not only an event, it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of a world and wake up in another quite different, and if this is not enchantment then where is it to be found?” —J.B. Priestley