Just a few pictures from our trip down south (Lexington-Knoxville-Asheville-Columbia-Charleston).
I'm sitting in shirtsleeves somewhere in Charleston, South Carolina and a few dozen voices on the phone screen are complaining about how cold it is back home. We came here, in part, to escape the weather but in this day and age though you may be able to escape the snow and cold the complaining on Facebook will follow you to the smoldering gates of hell.
In Aiken last night we sat down with an old friend and his family for dinner at a beautiful old restaurant where I was afraid to take off my coat because all I had underneath was a t-shirt and there were so many poplin suits and sensible sweaters in there I'm still not sure we didn't stumble into a JosABank catalog shoot. I showed my friend's young daughter a photo of us all in the snow and she told me (though her dad once lived in the northern reaches of Michigan's upper peninsula) she's never seen enough snow accumulate in her Georgian yard to roll so much as a single snowball. As bad as snow can be, that doesn't sound much better.
The week before, snow fell in our backyard like it did when I was a kid. I grew up with "lake effect" snow that was so much more wet and malleable than the crumbling, bitter dust that cloaks the ground around Detroit. My kids were outside before me that day, and I heard them shout that one word that makes midwestern winters tolerable in childhood. "It's PACKY! PACKY!" Oh, what a word.
"What do you want to make?" I asked. Playing with my kids in the snow is one of the best things in the world. And it had been a few years since we've had really good snow like this, not since we built the Great Snow Troll of 2010: