Snow way: winter is here
I love snow. And Iowa Park was bombared with huge globs of the white stuff as darkness fell Sunday night.
I’m not kidding. Monster snowflakes pounded the area, wet and ready for snowman-makers willing to venture outside between dinner and midnight to begin the sculpting process.
Because most of the snow was gone after an hour or so of the next morning’s light.
I think there might have been a handful of local kiddos who managed the feat in between oatmeal and the clicking red lights of the school bus.
I myself drove back from Wichita Falls between 8 and 9 Sunday night after visiting a friend. The drive there had been nothing more than wet mist and a little sleet.
The drive back was 45 mph, more because the mutant snowflakes were assaulting the windshield in droves, kind of like the bad guys attacking in a Lord of the Rings movie, only these were dressed in bright white.
The next morning at City Cafe, one of the patrons held up a huge chunk of ham, claiming “I saw snowflakes at least this big.”
Size-wise, my late great friend Wazoo would have claimed them to be “...about the size of a small baby’s head.”
The only problem with the snow was its wetness ... easy to make a snowball, but hard enough to knock someone out.
All in all, it was the kind of heavy snowfall that, in this part of the country, is rare enough so that when it happens, you usually remember it.
Let’s see, once was back in Littlefield as a youngster, sitting in front of a big bay window, hypnotized by the cascade of heavy snow. There were drifts taller than my dad that day. It was a daytime snow, though, so more of a vibrant memory.
Then there was a Christmas Eve right here in Iowa Park when I was still in high school ... another of those late night storms. Me and Michial Brady chased each other up and down Cornelia, blasting each other with snowballs, my sisters sitting crosslegged on the curb, catching snowballs with their tongues, maybe one or two of them eating the stuff off of car bumpers. Ok, maybe not.
And then there was this time in Granbury, and I was coming out of a cutting horse arena close to 10 at night, and was greeted by a rogue snowstorm. The flakes were as big as Sunday’s. I spent a great deal of time in the parking lot, catching snowflakes with my tongue and eating the stuff off of car bumpers.
Or maybe not.
One thing for sure, when it snows, I’m interested. Something about the way it blankets the landscape and everything is suddenly offered in a different perspective.
Including one’s soul.
Now, if I can just get enough snow to keep me away from work for a day ...