When I was young we grew up in what we considered at the time “the country.” Now we know it was just an idyllic, and rural acreage. With it’s well water, ponds, ducks, and neighbours almost out of hearing distance it felt like the country to these former suburbanites.
Living in the “almost” country snow belt we seemed to get a little more snow then other areas, enough to guarantee every time a giant snowman.
The lower Mainland has the perfect snowman kind of snow. The perfect first day of a snowfall crunching kind, with just the right sushi stickiness in it to make a snowman.
Now should you look at this poor snowman and think, what is she talking about, it was the only photo I had at the time of this post. Trust me, our snow makes great snowmen.
We could never understand why my Mom would complain about our leaving those long skidding kid tracks, and huge gaping holes like a tear in the green grass showing through the pillowcase whiteness of the front lawn.
Until I grew up, and learned to appreciate the perfection of coverage.
The beauty of whiteness, the imperfections covered, a new beginning lasting only until it melted.
She would always tell us before we left to go outside, covered from head to toe in woollens, ski jackets, and gloves, “you kid’s stay off the front lawn.
“But Mom...” we just didn’t understand the unbroken reflection of crystals in snow. Unmarred, undisturbed, unblemished.
And now, I do.
“You kids stay off the front lawn.”
It’s OK Mom, now I understand.
Jen @ Muddy Boot Dreams