Picture. Postcard. Perfect. Snow!

By TIM BEELAND,

It was gone almost as fast as it came, but the snow last Friday was certainly a sight to behold. I’ve always enjoyed a good snow, perhaps it is because I was born on a frosty morn. My parents say that it was so cold on the day my mom went into labor the doors were frozen shut. Trouble from the very beginning, one might say.

As far as snow goes, it does seem the best storms are always the ones we least expect, just like last Friday.

We went to bed on Thursday night expecting a light dusting. Then we were awakened by an early morning pre-recorded phone call announcing that the Choctaw Tribal Schools, where my wife teaches, would be having a delayed start.

Out on the front lawn our yard light cast a bright glow on the light dusting we were expecting. Sebastopol, after all, was only on the northern edge of the potential accumulation area according to the news when we retired for the evening the night before. Our huge yard looked real nice dusted with white powder and the Christmas wreaths and garland reminded me a bit of a Norman Rockwell card.

The dogs, — all three of them — were not impressed and the two chihuahuas were determined they could walk without putting a single foot on the ground when I took them out to do their morning business. So we tiptoed around the yard for a while and I enjoyed the light snow fall even if they didn’t.

By the time I got them back inside and unhitched them from their leashes the coffee was brewed, the morning news was on the television, and the snow fall was growing heavier and heavier.

Out on the kitchen porch the tables and chairs had about an inch of the white stuff piled up on them and the bamboo on the edge of the woods was bowing low beneath the heavy wet powder.

I flipped on the back porch light and it was all white out there as well and a quick glance back out front showed that the accumulation was already well beyond the “less than an inch” forecast.

Momma always said that the old home place was mighty pretty when it snowed and more than a couple of times wife, Danny, and I have commented to each other that we wish we could see it for ourselves. Friday we did.

Everything looked as if it had been  flocked by some fancy machine and I couldn’t help myself but to turn on the Christmas lights so we could see the place in all her splender. And, she did not disappoint.

Like everyone else in town and around I snapped picture after picture with my camera phone and shared copies with just about everyone I know.

The little Christmas tree at the base of our front steps was piled high with snow and the twinkle lights beneath it were twinkling away.

The snowman bird feeder in the mustard greens garden looked almost real and the birds were searching for a morsel here and there.

Our rusty old mule-drawn stalk cutter stood stark against the white background and the two rusty wagon wheels on either side of the drive were perfect with their green wreaths and burgundy bows.

And the branches on the now grown cedar tree my brother transplanted next to one of them years ago drooped heavily to the ground creating the most beautiful Christmas tree.

It was truly a picture-postcard-looking scene.

There’s just something magical about snow. Especially like the four-to-five inch “dusting” we got out in the country last Friday morning. It’s so clean and smooth. The quiet is a special kind of quiet and the crackling in the woods is so relaxing.

Then, of course, reality rears its ugly head and the roads are all clear and it does happen to still be a workday, and poof just like that the magic spell is broken.

Driving into Forest did give me the opportunity to enjoy the sites and the falling snow for a little while longer and on the radio the band Alabama’s song Christmas in Dixie was blaring loudly in my truck. “Christmas in Dixie,” they sang, “it’s snowing in the pines,” and this time it really was.

You know, Momma was right about our place. Boy was she ever! It was sure mighty pretty. I bet everyone of you thought the same thing about your place last Friday as well. And, you know what, you were all right too.