I don't give snow a lot of thought. Until it snows. Here in western Washington we get maybe a couple of dinky snowstorms a year - if any. Every few years we get a pretty good storm that will dump maybe a foot of the white stuff. Pretty much after February we're done.
Yesterday I went up to a cabin in the mountains. There has been a lot of snow up there this year. Usually it's gone by now, but not this year. I think there was a good 3 feet on snow still on the ground. It wasn't at all like the fluffy new snow, this was hard, icy, grainy stuff - the end of the season snow. I had to walk back and forth between cabins in this stuff. I was wearing my clogs - and let me tell you - I don't know what the Dutch were thinking. I'm sure they get snow in Holland (remember Hans Brinker?). Clogs are not meant to be worn in treacherous footing conditions.
As I was getting dressed to head up to our retreat with the Young Women, I had a thought that I should probably wear my boots. I didn't want to wear my boots. I didn't wear my boots. I should have worn my boots.
I should have listened to that still, small voice.
3 comments:
Is this a story that ends with you on your tuckus?
i love those stories.
No, not with me on my tuckus, but nearly, many times. I mostly managed to get a bunch of snow in my shoes (and melted on my socks).
Keira, that's just mean...and funny. I love those reminders that we need to listen, no so much to me, but to other people.
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