A Little Snow Perspective

I remember the snow when I was in first grade. It was the late 70's, and we lived in Buffalo Grove, Illinois (outside Chicago.) We got walloped with snow storm after snow storm.

I loved it.

There was so much snow that the city had to put red stakes in the snowbanks to show where the stop signs were. We walked to school on top of those snowbanks, looking down at passing cars.

After school, the neighborhood kids tunneled through the snow like eskimo squirrels. My dad helped us to make a slide in front of our house by scooting us down the snowbank on our snow-panted bottoms and then pouring a bucket or two of water down the indentation made by our rear ends. It was a fast slide.

We had snowball fights for the ages. Our snow forts were as impregnable as the Chateau d'If -- for no other reason than the eleven feet of standing snow on the ground.

What's amazing about my memories is that I don't remember people complaining about the snow. All I remember is consuming lots and lots of hot cocoa and Campbell's soup that winter.

That's why I laugh when I hear of the Federal Government shutting down because of a little snow. Granted, two feet of snow may seem like an awful lot... But, what do you expect when you elect a Midwesterner President of the United States? He was bound to bring a little weather in tow.

Here in the flatlands, we're enjoying our second day off from school this week. The boys are outside sledding with friends in the backyard. It's a well-earned bit of fun for them; they spent a half-hour this morning shoveling our front walk.

When they came inside after their "hard work", it was fun to hear them chatter to each other about how cold it was and how deep the snow was. "There's a TON of snow out there," my first-grader stated gravely as if I would be consumed by the blizzard were I to step foot outside.

As they settled in for their warm drinks, I tiptoed out with my ruler.

Six inches.

Still, they've fashioned some pretty swell snow forts out of that six inches...

But I wonder about my own recollections, now. And I wonder about my niece and nephew in Maryland imagining their way through 28 inches of the white stuff... What stories will they be able to tell?

- Midwest Mom

Midwest Fall Breathes its Last

The wind has picked up, the last breath of Fall sending leaves showering down and skittering along the pavement.

They lay piled thickly on rooftops and on the abandoned truck across the street. They clog gutters and gather at bases of bushes and trees. Eerily, they hang among the wispy remnants of Halloween cobweb.

Under the crisp blue sky, the whine of leaf blowers rings through the air, making the gentle rustle of our old-fashioned rakes sound more like a whisper than work. We are being shushed.

I laugh as the kids swing high and leap into space, plummeting into an enormous pile of crackling brown. They giggle as they crawl among the ladybugs, leaves stuck in hair and hoods and caught in fleece.

We tidy up after nature's clutter, cutting back summer's bounteous growth, now simultaneously overgrown and skeletal. Bringing order to chaos is a satisfying venture.

The birds are gone. And I feel the need to fill a feeder for the few stragglers who remain. The outdoors is muffled and smells of mold and dampness. There are no bees, only worms thriving on decay.

We witness as the colors of Autumn become the shivering nakedness of winter.



- Midwest Mom