In Colorado we always have our first snow around Halloween; it's like a seasonal clock on which I've come to rely. It snows on Halloween and then the holiday season begins. But here it was mid-November, sunny and warm with not a trace of winter in sight. It's hard to come up with a Thanksgiving Day menu when the sun is blazing and it's 70 degrees outside. But this past weekend the weather started to change. The west wind blew down from the mountains, driving thousands of tumbleweed across the freeway to be pummeled into dust by passing cars. The snow arrived early the next morning. By the time I was shooing the kids out the door, and quickly packing their school bags in the car, Winter was in full swing, the snow blowing horizontally through the thin air like a barrage of needles that cut us to the bone. The road was covered with a thick sheet of ice. The drive was treacherous.
The next morning I let the kids sleep in. The storm had raged throughout the night and schools were canceled across the city.
Of course, as soon at they awoke, out came the coats, mittens, hats, and scarves. Then we dug out the snow pants, buried in the closet since last year. I watched, from the kitchen window, as they threw handfuls of the fine, crystalline snow high into the air, creating their own personal blizzards. They piled mountains of snow on the grass, the walls of a snow fort, I later discovered. And soon a procession of snow angels marched across the back lawn. I smiled, knowing that Winter was here and I could finally get to work on my holiday plans.
