It’s hit or miss, here in Kentucky, whether we actually get a real winter or not. Many years, the precipitation is mostly rain, the ground is always squashy and muddy, and the skies maintain a steady shade of gray. Some years, it snows. I like snow years best of all, because it’s probably colder, and I noticed pretty quickly that the coldest days also tend to be the sunniest. I can’t live without the sun! At least three of my people are energized by the rain, but it just makes me feel damp and frizzy and unhappy.
This is a snow year.
After a long autumn of ridiculously warm days, winter settled in with a vengeance in early December. For over two weeks, the daytime temperatures stayed well below freezing, and the mud firmed up into lumpy divots and mounds. After a brief respite, Mid-January finds us managing not one, but two snowstorms within four days. The kids are in heaven, and as soon as a couple of inches of fresh snow covered the old trampled stuff, they left and did not return until summoned for dinner.
People have gotten into the habit lately of sleeping in and wandering downstairs sometime between eight and nine. The older children are sticking to their school schedules pretty well, but the younger ones haven’t really done any lessons since Christmas. I had it in my mind to whip every body back into shape this week, but this weather doesn’t happen often enough, and I just don’t have the heart to force more mundane matters on them. Not when all that snow beckons.
We have sixty degree temperatures forecast this weekend, and it’ll all be gone. We’ll knuckle down next week.