The Snow Fell Softly

Daisy the Snow Dog

     The snow fell softly all the night.

It made a blanket soft and white.

It covered houses, flowers and ground,

But did not make a single sound!

Alice Wilkins

     All week we were advised to get ready for a winter storm.  After last year's dramatic ice storm, we all heeded the warning:

Generators--check

candles--check 

gas cans filled--check

extra batteries--check

cell phones charged--check

hay for horses--check

neighbors contacted--check

sleds out of storage--check

milk, bread, and hot chocolate--check

We, as well as the rest of Northwest Arkansas were ready for a winter blast!

The ice on the windshield formed as we drove home from Green Forest where we had gone for a few last minute supplies.  That night the freezing rain turned to sleet, then, the snow came.  What a relief to see those flakes since that meant no more freezing on the trees.  It was snowing hard at bedtime, snowing hard in the night when I slipped out of bed to check, and snowing hard at daybreak. Sometimes blowing flakes went sideways and they passed by the windows. We were caught up in such a whirl of snow that from our view on the mountain, the world was one big snow storm!

If I were to order a perfect day, this had to be it.  Sitting by the window, good book in hand, dogs at my side (curled under the blanket), cup of hot tea nearby, nowhere important to go, family at home where they belong (Jay had just flown home from another trip to China the day before), and the electricity was working!

I guess what made it so very special is that on this day, 44 years ago, Jack and I were married--one of the area's worst snow storms had moved through South Arkansas the day before.  Last minute changes were made--Maid of Honor couldn't get from Little Rock, neither could the groomsmen.  The flowers for the reception froze in the back room (with heat on!) Nonetheless, the wedding took place.  The honeymoon was postponed until summer since the roads north were impassable.  By the way, the honeymoon destination was North Arkansas.  Over forty years later, here we are and loving it!

     The spur of delight comes in small ways.

    Robert L. Stevenson