I like snow. I’ve always liked snow, it’s one of the main reasons I haven’t joined the seasonal migration of folks my age to warmer climes.

I don’t necessarily enjoy the copious quantities that have covered my driveway lately, but they do bring a certain element of adventure to an ordinary winter day. The fresh clean blanket they cover winter’s dull browns with brings back some of summer’s magic to our sleeping gardens. We had a snow a week or so ago that was calendar quality.

It snowed during the night and since the snowfall wasn’t accompanied by blizzard-strength winds, it clung to the trees and grasses, transforming our backyard. A whole legion of Van Goghs with rollers couldn’t have done a more artistic job.

Telly, my BFF (Big Fuzzy Friend), and I paused several times to admire the artwork done on ordinary branches and weeds. He enjoys snow as much as I do and being more agile than me, bounds joyfully through it. He pauses frequently to make snow angels, rolling from side to side, usually close enough to my freshly shoveled paths to provide me with more exercise since I frequently have to re-shovel them after he is finished.

He tried something new during our morning walk. We received a fresh snowfall during the night. He ran through it and stuck his head down into the snow, becoming a canine snowplow. After plowing five or six feet, up popped his head, covered with snow, and he looked at me in a way that said, “That was fun! Why don’t you try it?” Dogs are just the best!

I don’t play in the snow much anymore but my furry friend’s frolicking brought back memories of when I did. Was there ever anything better than a “snow day?” Unexpected vacations are never a bad thing. I think there should be a law that when the schools are closed because of the weather, everything should be closed and everyone be required to go outside and play in the snow.

We had sleds as kids, but they were the Flexible Flyer type, which just don’t work when the snow is deep and soft. We never thought of sliding down hill in an inner tube; Dad needed them to keep the car’s tires round. We didn’t have round plastic disks or plastic sleds, but what we lacked in equipment, we made up for in imagination. We slid down hills in cardboard boxes, on Mom’s cookie sheets (until we got caught) and on anything else that had a flat surface.

I remember the fun we had sliding on the hood of an old Hupmobile that Dad had converted into a doodlebug.

My personal favorite was an old metal-topped kitchen table. It had been relegated to the barn after my mother had finally acquired a modern Formica table. I saw the possibilities and conned my younger siblings into dragging it to the top of our sliding hill. We flipped it over and climbed on board, all four of us, each one clutching a table leg, and down we went. It went like the wind with the added attractions of spinning round and round until the edge dug into the snow, flipping all of us in different directions, head first into the deep snow. The more we rode it, the more the snow packed down and the faster we went. The higher speeds meant flying further when the flips occurred.

Is there anything more fun when you’re a kid than something that could possibly break an arm or leg? Fortunately, The Big Guy Upstairs loves small idiots and the only leg that got broken was on the old table. The only thing better than doing it as a kid is remembering it as if it were yesterday as an adult. There’s a lot about the Good Ol’ Days that really was.

Thought for the week — “It’s impossible to enjoy idling thoroughly unless one has plenty of work to do.” — Jerome K. Jerome.

Until next week, may you and yours be happy and well.

Reach Dick Brooks at Whittle12124@yahoo.com.

Johnson Newspapers 7.1

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