The first heavy snow fall always reminds me of my father. It was his belief the first snow was one that would determine the winter for cross-country skiing. He dreamed of the fresh powder which allowed you to glide with ease across the open trails in the winter time.
After a really good storm we would tie our skies to back of the car and drive off to the ski club. At that age I didn’t appreciate the beauty, the silence, or the fresh scent of pine cones along the trail. My poor father would hear the lamenting of a ten-year old complaining of cold feet and ice-cold cheeks.