The 12th of February 1993 – Fine, New York

(found along the road that ran along the river towards Old Carr Pond)

When the snow’s up to your chest, well, that’s when you’re in trouble, Trudy. When the snow’s up to your chest, it’s what my granddaddy always used to say, when the snow’s up there, well, you’re in trouble.

I don’t have anything to do but shovel anymore, so how well do you think I’m doing? I hope you’re well too, out there in California, with the sun and the sand and the smiles.

Ah, but the snow’s up to my eyeballs today. Yesterday it was over my head. Tomorrow it’ll be around my ankles. The snow, well, I haven’t seen anything but snow for about six months. Maybe longer.

No, certainly a lot longer. I haven’t seen anything but snow for about seventeen years.

Always snow, even just a little bit. Even just a little bit around my ankles. Always at least enough to crunch beneath my boots when I’m walking along the trail.

Amazing, isn’t it? Amazing that I’m still not sick of it yet? Amazing that I still get up and look out my window and see the snow and – still – I want to get outside?

Not even to play with the snow. Not even to get the grandkids out and make snow angels. I just mean, well, as much as I hate that snow, I can’t be here without it. It’ll always be around, and I’ll always be needing it.

So, well, I’m getting the shovels out.

Are you planning a trip here yet? Once the spring comes, most of the snow melts away. You remember. Don’t you?

You should plan a trip here soon. The green and the vegetation will do you some good. The sky here’s a lot clearer, and sometimes I need help with my snow.

Warmly,

Pa

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