In the South… snow is a rare thing… so rare that it makes headline news. Whenever the hint of frozen precipitation is mentioned, don’t expect grocery stores to have any bread, milk or water. Come to think of it, I don’t know why it is always milk and bread. If we really did get stuck in our homes for any length of time and the power went out – milk would be one of the first things to go and bread wouldn’t be too far behind (unless you wanted to go stick it in the snow to keep from molding). Chalk it up to our inexperience with the white stuff.
Lucky for me, I married a Yankee. He thinks the reaction of the collective South is ridiculous. “It is just snow!” He always exclaims. He grew up with snow. He knows snow. He doesn’t freak out about snow. It is a good thing.
I don’t freak out about snow anymore either. During our trip to Yellowstone last year I saw and hiked through more snow than I had seen in my entire life. That de-snowed me. It made me love winter though. The crunch under your boots. The crisp air and silence in the white woods. It was magical. I now prefer winter over summer. I love the snow.
We’re about to go out and run – before “the snow” hits. We’re not worried about us. We’re worried about the crazy drivers maneuvering amongst the white stuff.