I love the winter. I never truly appreciated my love of the snow until I moved to Umea where there I encountered a significantly longer and snowier season. (And where sadly there is not a whole lot of sunlight in the wintertime to enjoy it by).
I also cherish the times I spend with sisters and parents back in Minneapolis. Two Christmas's ago, I came to fully understand this when I came home for the first time in over two years and Michi and I walked down to Lake Calhoun on a sunny December afternoon.
From my father my sisters and I have learned the joy of play even as adults. For years every time one of us has returned home after being away for an extended period of time, we come home to a snowman greeting us in the backyard. It seems hard to imagine a snowy day with perfect snow for rolling snowballs when I haven't looked out to see my father in the backyard building away. Soon there one daughter is out there helping, and then another, and another. My mother encourages us from the safety of the porch. (I know she secretly wants to join but there is something about watching that she seems to enjoy almost as much we enjoy tumbling about in the snow.)
The same winter I walked down to Lake Calhoun with Michi, we got carried away building in all 38 snowmen of varying sizes and a snowcat (stuck up in a tree)-- the feat of a full grown family enthusiastically building in the front yard impressed upon people so much that neighbors continued to comment to my parents well into the following summer.
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