Two feet of snow on the ground, with more expected for the next three days. The coldest week of the year. The Little Pellet Stove That Could is tootling along, but not reaching the corners; kids are under Little House on the Prairie-sized piles of quilts and I keep encouraging more dogs to sit on me. Nobody’s been able to do more than run to the mailbox and back inside, then stamp their feet and blow on their hands and say “Wow” a couple of times. I’m cooking a 20-lb turkey at eleven at night to justify keeping the oven on in the kitchen.
Remembering hot sun, green grass, and apples right off the tree.