Snow is for kids, not old people. Young people who downhill ski and snowboard, and those who snowmobile, etc., are mainly from up north who are young enough to enjoy it. You know, kids at heart.

Several years ago, I tried the bunny slopes at Paoli and ended up tangled up in the lift mechanism and they had to stop the whole system. So much for that.

My earlier memories of snow goes back to when I must have been eight or nine and I was going across our fields going to a neighbor’s house. A playmate who lived there was one of my best friends. The snow was up to my knees. It was about a quarter mile trudge, but I finally got there. The family was out melting snow in the large iron kettle that was usually used when butchering hogs. Storing away the melted snow provided nice clean, soft water for later bathing. (No, there were no water softeners back then). They had a good fire going and they all welcomed me to thaw out. I welcomed it.

Another memory was on a Thanksgiving out on a country farm where several of our families were together. While the women were getting the food ready, us kids were enjoying the snow. They had a small pond, and of course, it looked frozen. Frozen enough just to get out a ways from the edge and down we went. Luckily, it was just up to our waist. The women folks found a bunch of frozen rag-a-muffins invading the kitchen. Wet clothes and all. We ate Thanksgiving dinner in our underwear and wrapped in towels.

Was the snow deeper back then? No, I think we just remember the good times.

Later, as parents, we enjoyed taking our kids sledding down the country club hill that was just across the street from our old place. Even building a snow castle in the front yard to go along with the snowman wasn’t a chore then.

Even now I enjoy the snow, but more like looking at it from my window. Virgin snow, with no tracks to mar the beauty. Before the snowplows come, before the snow shovels show up. And if the sun is shining, I love the glistening diamond blanket covering it all. And the silence; just listen to the silence. Isn’t it wonderful how the snow absorbs the sounds.

But then the snow becomes a burden. The streets must be cleared, and the snow must find a place to get out of the way. The traffic has made some it into slush and made it all dirty. So the beautiful snow is piled up somewhere to gradually become dirty water. Country snow has a better chance of surviving than city snow.

Then the time comes of getting out of the house to do what needs to be done. For years we had no garage, so scraping, defrosting, warming up the car was a morning chore. Shoveling a path and cleaning the porch stoop wasn’t looked forward to. Today, we love our garage and the condo amenities.

Mary and I kept our plastic snowman out front. We figured he was not just a Christmas snowman, but a winter snowman. I can tell by the look on his face that he enjoys the cold.