January 10, 2025
I grew up in Dallas, Jackson and Little Rock. None are known for their snowy weather. I was used to sleet and sheets of ice. But it snowed at least nine inches at my house in Little Rock last night. A big snowfall for us.
The meteorologists started mentioning snow on Sunday. Today is Friday. You could feel the whole state shiver with excitement. As each day progressed, with each new forecasted model, the chance of a real snow event grew closer. Thursday was the bullseye continuing into Friday. We have been down this road before only to feel duped when the snow didn't arrive or arrived in miniscule quantity.
But we are a hopeful state, and as always, just the mention of snow sends us fleeing to the grocery store aisles for bread, eggs, milk, toilet paper, Little Debbies, ground beef and chili powder. I dropped by on Tuesday afternoon and there were no baskets. Every single basket was being used in the store by someone who might be picking up my last loaf of bread or jar of peanut butter or can of Northern beans. I turned around and left.
On Wednesday morning, I headed out early. 830 a.m. No problem getting a basket. The bread aisle was looking gone over. The beef section was empty of every piece of red meat in the store. Luckily, I had done a we're back home shop when we returned on Saturday after being gone a week for the holiday. I had gotten beef then.
There must be a lot of scrambled eggs and omelets floating around Little Rock. There was not even a carton of eggs shoved up into the highest corner where I would have had to ask for help. How would we make the snow event with only six eggs? No choice. The only milk left was the expensive brand. I bought a half gallon in preparation for my Going to Maine Potato Soup. Luckily, I had purchased heavy cream for my soup on Saturday's trip.
Every school announced closures for Thursday and Friday. Any meeting on Thursday or Friday was cancelled. The snow trucks had been spraying their chemicals, beet juice and salt mixtures on the city streets since Wednesday afternoon. Anyone within the sound of my voice had already begun to doubt the BIG snow event.
But the weather forecasters held on tight. Weather Impact they called it. Only non-essential personnel. No one should get out on the roads. We were left waiting.
The snow started at 3:15 p.m. Thursday afternoon. Fast and furious, big, fat, flakes. By bedtime it had stopped. I stood at the back door thinking it was nice but not too exciting. Once again, the forecasters had missed the mark. Afterall, they always say snow is hard to predict. The dog went out for his bedtime run and came back in with a snow covered back and tiny snowballs hanging from his Australian Shepherd fringe. The snow covered ground did look magical, replacing the dark with a milky glow.
This morning I woke up and looked out the window. They had been right all along. We had gotten several more inches during the night. We measured 10 inches on my deck. That is a lot of snow filling up deck chairs and pots and outdoor tables, making waves of rocks in my backyard.
I have had snow brain all day long. What I had wanted came true. I can stand at the back door and watch the dog bound through the inches with glee, coming inside with big snowballs on his fringe as wet as any child playing outside in the snow. The snow continued to fall lightly for hours. What is it about snow that makes us stop what we are doing and just stare outside? Of course, it may be in relation to where we live and our lack of regular snow. I really wouldn't want it to snow all of the time. Too cold. And I don't think I would be mesmerized by three inches. But ten hit the magic point. Except for the very southern counties, the entire state has enjoyed the magic.
Snow Ice Cream. I may not go out and play in the snow anymore, thanks to my titanium ankle, but it is tradition to make the white stuff. I gather up a bowl of snow. Pour cold cream over it and mix in. Add powdered sugar and two caps of vanilla. Stir. Add a little milk. Stir until it starts to melt and stir more snow in.
Blue Bell needn't worry. But there is nothing like it. Snow Ice Cream is colder. A little chewy. Beware of brain freeze.
I don't ever make snow ice cream without remembering my Daddy going outside with his bowl and spoon. He didn't usually have ten inches to work with. He would delicately scrape the top snow off and plop snow-filled spoons into his bowl. Then he would head to the kitchen to make the ice cream. I always stood right next to him while he whipped it up. I don't remember him building snowmen with me or going sledding (usually too flat) because he always had to make it in to work in the retail world in case someone might want to come shopping on a snow day.
But I have the good memories of sitting down and sharing the deliciousness of snow ice cream he had made just for us. Every bite melting in your mouth. The cold cream mixed with the sugar and vanilla separate a little. With every slurp of the melting slush, the fat in the cream sticks to the roof of your mouth capturing sweet bits going down. Feels like velvet. Thanks Daddy.
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