Although my family moved to Missouri from Michigan when I was five years old, I clearly and affectionately remember the winter snows. Perhaps that is why, when the forecast includes the rare white stuff, I don't panic or fret; I anticipate it's arrival with something akin to glee even if it doesn't commence at a convenient time for playing. But as soon as my schedule allows, I pull on my boots and gloves, grab the dog, the shovel, the camera or even the neighbor's kids (any excuse will do), and hurry out into the winter wonderland.
circa 1958-59
Grand Rapids, Michigan
(Amusing to see the baby sitting comfortably in a beer box - how
politically incorrect that would be today!)
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