When you step into freshly fallen snow. That soft crunch–that is my favorite. Everything about snow, from the brisk air that accompanies it to its ability to completely transform a landscape, is awesome. Snow inspires me to play, to laugh, to dig, to make memories. I’m willing to say that snow is essential to the holidays. Without it, they’re just not as merry as they could be.

As a little person growing up in the mountains of New Mexico, I came to expect blustery sub-zero conditions just after Halloween. Before the first snowfall, my family would go woodcutting in a nearby forest to secure fuel for our iron stove (the only source of heat in our house). To stockpile enough to last the entire season, we made three consecutive day-long trips. Our mission? Search out an old felled tree, saw it into round pieces, stack them in the bed of an old brown pick-up, and use them to assemble a wall of wood next to our driveway. Sometimes we needed only one big tree to do the job; other times we used up more daylight searching than we did cutting.

Once the temperatures dropped, Dad went outside every morning and brought in an icicle each for my sister and me. Everyone got up before dawn in my house, mostly because the Bozo Show came on at 6am and Dad liked to get a head start on his day at the particleboard plant. Did I mention that we lived on a reservation? That’s kind of an important detail, and hopefully helps to explain the close proximity of our home to the mill and a dense mountain forest. Anyway, while we were licking icicles Dad built a fire in the iron stove, which was located in a corner of our living room. Conveniently, the television was nearby. He stood with his heavy coat spread out in front of our home’s only heat source for awhile, and then off he went. When no one was looking, Latice and I put the remainder of our icicles on top of the stove and watched them sputter and slide all over.

Snowy days were spent in our back yard, for the most part. Latice and I dug labyrinths with kid-sized shovels and garden hoes, rolled gigantic snow balls, attempted to dig out the swing set so we could play on it, and other insane kids-in-winter activities. I don’t ever remember getting frost-bitten, or at least I don’t remember caring. We were too busy. When my cousins lived down the road from us, we all made a ruckus together around the neighborhood. Then someone usually fell on their nose and everyone retreated home to have soup.

Fast-forward to Sunday morning. I dragged out of bed after an insane travel day and found myself surrounded by white powdery awesomeness. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: This is the best holiday season I’ve had since moving to Portland. And you know I’m stomping, digging, rolling, and laughing my way all over this town. Of course, there are lots of photos for your enjoyment. Happy Snow Day, everyone!