We’re about three inches short of the predicted accumulation but I haven’t heard too many complaints about it. Part of that is due to the fact that I haven’t heard from many people and the other part is that nostalgia is better than experience when it comes to dealing with snow.

It’s not that I’m lacking for good memories about snow. I remember March of 1960 when we got about twelve inches of the white stuff in southern Kentucky. As we made our way to church that Sunday morning in the Chevy station wagon, Dad plowed through several drifts that were close to two feet deep. He’d make a run and stop as soon as the car started to stall in the powder. Then, he’d back up a hundred feet or so and take another run. It took us about twenty minutes to go two miles but we made it through and got to church on time. Not bad, considering church was about fifty miles away. Of course, once we made it across the six miles of gravel to where the pavement had been plowed, our rate of progress increased considerably.

In the aftermath of that same storm, Paul and I built an igloo in the yard. We lacked the architectural savvy of the Esquimeaux but made up for it with determination, ingenuity and a few planks that Dad didn’t miss right away.

Another thing that we didn’t miss was any milkings or feedings during and after the storm. Running a dairy farm doesn’t offer a lot of days off and that’s a fact that nostalgia can’t cut through. I’ve missed playing in the hayloft and a few other things but the day you hear me talking about “the good ole days back on the farm” is the day that you can be sure that my mind is whacked.

We ought to be able to count our blessings and enjoy old memories without lying to ourselves or anyone else. The fact is there’s never been an easy time to live. There’s never been any lack of evil in this world since Eve plucked the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge. God’s grace continues to sprout and flourish wherever it is embraced.

Even in the storms.

H. Arnett
12/21/11