If you are the sort to believe in Snow Gods, you would feel that absolutely every one is listening to kids' and skiers' wishes for more. We got eight or nine inches on the 26th, and then this past Saturday it snowed all day. Most thrillingly, the forecasted inches kept creeping up as the day progressed-- from 2-4, to 3-5, to 5-7.
Patrick and I made a valiant attempt to get to the state park, but failed in a haze of smoking tires and slush-skid. We came home. We put on our snowshoes anyway, and headed out into our great expanse of unofficial backyard-- a universe of farm fields, fencerows, swamp, and a pretty knoll crowned by white pines.
We've been out there a few times, though it seems there's always more to explore than last time.
I brought my camera, of course, and was so thrilled to be able to take pictures of falling snow. So many years I've wanted to do that.
We found a tree-squashed Kharmann Ghia, of all things, down in a swale where Patrick busied himself for several minutes where I fiddled with my zoom.
Eventually, cold toes compelled us towards home. I couldn't resist taking a picture of the greenhouse under its mantle of white before we went inside to dry off and drink hot liquids.
I love winter.