"SUCH AS THEY ARE WISEST"
Conversation about the weather is the last refuge of the unimaginative –Oscar Wilde
Pinch, W.Va. woods in winter white
And internet chatter doubly so. WITH THAT SAID…
It snowed nearly 18 inches at my parents’ house this weekend. And it still hasn’t stopped.
It’s the most snow I can remember since the Blizzard of ‘93, and the only time in recent memory we’ve had lots of snow before Christmas.
My dad got stranded on the turnpike for about 20 hours between Friday and Saturday on his 40-mile commute home from work. (I, in turn, farmed him out to my friends at the Charleston Gazette for today’s snowmergency story.)
Spent the weekend in Charleston, where the snow was a little lighter, but still drifting into pretty significant knee-deep piles.
It was perfect snow, too– big diaphanous flakes and a wet consistency for packing great snowballs.
A little too deep for sledding, though two friends and I gave it a valliant effort for most of yesterday afternoon.
We drove way out into the country near Pinch, W.Va. (a great name, right?) to ramble around in the snowy woods for a few hours.
My friend Ry, keeping the snow warm
We built a snow fort and a lumpy snow-woman and rolled down a big hill through the drifts, yelling and carrying on like kids on a snow-day rather than 20-something journalists.
This weekend, I also managed to fall asleep in front of roaring fire, play with a precocious kitten, lose track of time entirely and, at a fancy Christmas party, try a small sip of homemade moonshine (verdict: smoother than I would’ve thought, but with a significant and lingering burn)
If you haven’t gone out in the snow, you should. It’ll make your heart light, I promise.
For now, some tea and Debussy. “Des pas sur la neige” (Footprints in the snow):
Hankincents is a blog about life and money by Kellen Henry. It's the spare change dish of my life post-grad school in a lousy economy, in a struggling industry.
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