Even though last week I was swooning over the turquoises and oranges of spring as shown in the magazine spreads, I was so delighted by the 14 inches of snow that dropped yesterday. While I was scooping our driveway, I kept stopping to look around (and take a few gasping breaths--it was a heavy, wet snow). I found myself pushed to laughter because of the joy I have found in living in this beautiful, beautiful place. Some people would say that this is the "price" you have to pay to have so many lakes, wildflowers and trees, but to me it is no sacrifice. Now the dead brown is a different story.
I have very fond memories of making Snow Cream as a child. It is a recipe that has been passed down through the generations--from at least as far back as my Nebraska homesteaders. It takes a deep snow to make it (the first few inches clean the skies, then a few more inches to gather). Once you have that much snow, the last thing you want to do is go to the store for cream (I know you can use milk, but really, you want cream). A few weeks ago, I bought cream and put it in the fridge knowing it has a long fridge life. I was vigilant about shooing away robbers and was glad when last night we finally had Snow Cream. It was every bit as good as I remembered!
In my spare moments or in times when I don't have to think about the task at hand (dishes, folding laundry), I dream about my someday house. My current fantasy is about a kitchen garden. We have a lot of wildlife around here--Peter Rabbit, to name one vegetable thief--so I'm not sure how successful I can be. Nonetheless, I would love to walk out my kitchen to something like this:
Especially if it came with that lady! Not that I don't enjoy enjoy gardening because I do, but it does take a lot of time!
So, even though we are buried in snow and I'm not wishing it away just yet, I know that spring is not far away. And I need to plan . . .