mud pies to medicine: Snow

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Snow

In the south, snow tends to be somewhat of a rare occurrence. Many years there won't be enough snow fall to coat the roads or shut down businesses. Southerners are currently boasting about the 60 degree weather they are enjoying as it snows in the north. And the people up north in New England find themselves constantly covered in snow. Their lack of snow days is because snow is a part of life everyday and they have learned to deal with and ignore it.

And then there is this beautiful little area between New England and D.C. that gets to experience the wonderful thrill that is snow. Snow has not yet lost its wonder for me. On rare occasions we will have a winter that leaves us wanting. And then there are winters like this one where it does not seem to stop. Thirty inches at Christmas and fourteen inches just this week with lots in between and right now the flurries are falling, just as they did last night. The ground has been blanketed by snow for over a month now, a rare winter indeed. While many grumble and grow weary of our treacherous roads, I've been sipping hot cocoa and watching the snow fall. It hasn't lost its magic. And I hope it never does!

I did a little experimenting and used a Bokeh filter with a flash to take this picture. It makes the snow look as magical as it feels to me!

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The inspiration you ask?

I miss making mud pies. There is this huge rock in my front yard. To call it a rock really does it a dishonor. It is a boulder, brought home by my father on a huge dump truck after he blasted it out of a work site. My mom one day told me that even though it is nearly 2.5 feet high, 6 feet long, and 2.5 feet wide, that it was, in fact, only half-showing. The scientist inside of me was disbelieving and set out to get some proof. Clad in a dress, bow in my hair, and my best accessory, a shovel, I trudged outside ready to prove my mother wrong. That is when the digging began. I dug, and dug, and dug, and nearly all 3.5 feet of Danielle fit in that hole when I had reached the bottom of the rock. That became my digging spot, my mud pie kitchen. Each day it was dug, and each evening it was filled back in. Sometimes the holes were small, sometimes they were enormous, and most days the hole was turned into my mud mixing bowl with that rock as my counter. The novelty never wore off. The ebb and flow of my childhood was, in many ways, measured by the ever-changing depth of that hole in the front yard, the hole that never really disappeared even each day after it was filled in. Even though the grass has grown back in that spot, there still remains, an indentation, the scars of a childhood well lived and the disbelieving scientists I have always been.

So, you ask me why I want to be a doctor? I do not want to be a doctor. I want to open a mud pie bakery with the cash register on that rock in my front yard. But, somehow, I doubt I would stay in business long, for the world seems to have lost its taste for mud pies. I guess being a doctor will have to do.