It's Ask-A-Wench on the blog again, and this time we Wenches asked ourselves a question – in honor of December and the advent of winter, and the appearance of some unexpected snow here and there — we got to chatting about winter, winter stories and writing winter settings:
Have you ever written a winter setting, and what do you find enjoyable and/or challenging about that? If you haven't, why not – and have you read a winter-set book that you particularly enjoyed?
Sleigh bells ring, are you listening,
In the lane, snow is glistening
A beautiful sight,
We're happy tonight
Walking in a winter wonderland . . .
– Richard Smith, lyricist, “Winter Wonderland”
Patricia Rice
I’ve lived in the northeast and midwest most of my life, and I have never, ever learned to appreciate the cold. If it snows, I hide inside by the fireplace. I love watching snow fall, and love the beauty of ice coating the trees, but do not ask me to go out in it. I’ve spent too many cold winter nights huddling around a kerosene heater with a flashlight for reading to appreciate the inevitable lack of electricity. And the last 
time we were caught in a blizzard, we spent eight hours off the side of an interstate waiting for help. Nope, not doing that anymore.
That said, the experience has certainly made me aware of the discomforts our historical heroines suffer in winter! I’ve written quite a few winter novellas (two of which are currently in Mischief and Mistletoe and Christmas Roses) and many of my historicals torment my characters with cold (the Magic Man reissue does snow and Scotland). I torture my characters with weather!
Hope everyone stays safe and warm this winter!
Mary Jo Putney
Weather is a useful tool in the author's workbox, and England has lots of weather to work with. I often find myself setting stories in spring because the blossoming flowers and fields parallel the growth of the romantic relationship. Winter is more of a niche setting because it can be very limiting, particularly because of Regency roads and transportation. (Besides, I grew up in a cold, drafty northern farmhouse. I don't need to write about such places!)
But winter can also be very romantic, allowing two people to grow closer as they are cut off from the rest of the world. In my first historical, Dearly Beloved, the characters have a passionate lovemaking session in the snow. (Luckily Diana's mantle was long and very warm. <G>)
Since British weather is often on the wet and foggy side, my first Christmas novella ever, "Sunshine for Christmas," starts with the hero, depressed by the gloom, as he flees England for sunnier climes. Naples starts out with damp and rain also, until Lord Randolph meet a charming governess…
Not surprisingly, my other Christmas novellas often have snow. And ice. And a need to cuddle together for warmth. In "The Christmas Tart," the protagonists' carriage slides off the road, marooning them with a sweet little old lady for the night. In "The Best Husband Money Can Buy," the unhappy heroine falls asleep in the snow and has to be warmed up by her new husband.
And in "The Christmas Cuckoo," the hero and heroine first have a weather related carriage accident (yes, they were common!) and later peacefully gather greens for the holiday while talking at cross-purposes.
I suppose that I keep writing Christmas stories because they allow for over-the-top sentimentality, and the icy weather emphasizes the warmth of family and friends indoors by the fire. Happy holidays!
Nicola Cornick
My favourite writing about winter is “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening” by Robert Frost. I read the poem as a child and was enchanted by it. Although I know Frost was an American poet, for me his writing captures exactly how I think a British winter should be: the snow falling softly through the trees as the light fades, the crisp coldness of the air. So often our winters are mild and damp and very different from the pictures on the Christmas cards. I love the cold freshness of a proper winter day and I read the Robert Frost poem and imagine standing in my favourite woods (Ashdown, of course!) while the snow blankets the world in white.
Cara Elliott:
I like winter, I really do! But winter doesn’t like me. Even as a kid, I was really susceptible to the cold. So although I loved skiing and sledding, I was always having to skulk back inside to thaw my frozen hands and feet.
Aside from several Christmas short stories, I’ve never written a book set in winter—maybe it’s that lingering sympathy for how miserable it is to feel frozen. I just don’t seem to have the heart to subject my heroine to the discomforts of snow and ice. (I could, of course, set the inside the cozy confines of a manor house, complete with blazing fires and mulled wine . . . ah, a house party, snowbound with all sorts of interesting people to pair off.
Hmmm, now there’s an idea . . .)
Anne Gracie
I was more or less raised on English story books, and I adored winter stories because frozen lakes and snow-covered landscapes were to me, pure fantasy — things I'd only read about. We do get snow in Australia in winter, but usually you have to travel to the mountains to get to it. I didn't see real snow until I was eight and we went to live in Scotland for a year.
But in Australia, Christmas comes in summer, so for me, winter stories with ice and snow were all part of the fantasy of having "a proper Christmas." I wanted to skim across the ice like Hans Brinker, and make snowmen and throw snowballs, and tramp across the fields to collect the Christmas tree and cut holly and ivy — all the things I'd read about in books. We arrived in Scotland in February, so I missed my white Christmas, and the next Christmas we spent in London, where it was grey and drizzly. So I'm yet to experience a white Christmas, but it doesn't stop me from writing winter-set stories. I loved writing The Mistletoe Bride, my story in the Mischief and Mistletoe wenchly anthology, and my next book is called The Winter Bride.
Jo Beverley
By preference, I would probably avoid winter stories, because I don't like the cold, especially if it comes with ice underfoot and snow on the streets. However, I do like writing Christmas stories, so I can't avoid it. I don't think, however, that I've ever written one that involves ice or any more snow than makes a decorative dusting! But they do involve cold. I grew up without central heating, so my memories of Christmastime are wrapped up with cold, and remember England, especially the north, has a damp cold. It's not crisp and fresh; it eats into the bones. There was a reason that the even the rich and great used small rooms in the winter, and preferred to spend winter in Town rather than in their chilly stately homes. In Winter Fire, even the Marquess of Rothgar wouldn't have been able to keep Rothgar Abbey warm enough for Genova to lounge around half naked! I'm showing the step-back, so you can fully appreciate the absurdity.
Susan King
“…that wool-white bell-tongued ball of holidays resting at the rim of the carol-singing sea…”
– Dylan Thomas, A Child’s Christmas in Wales
I love snow and winter, having grown up in Upstate New York, where winter days in my childhood were not only beautiful but seemed magical—and a wonderland playground (sledding, snowballs, snowforts, snow angels, skating, skiing; and then inside, cozy sweaters and slippers, days off school – and hot cocoa!). Now, I live in the DC suburbs, where snow is…well, a whole different experience. Yet for me it will always have a certain magic.
So, being a dyed-in-the-wool fan of winter and snow, I’ve written lots of winter settings and winter scenes and situations in my books. Scotland lends itself to winter stories, particularly in certain regions, and cold and snowy weather naturally create interesting challenges for a hero and heroine just getting to know one another—particularly when there’s adventure as well as romance in the mix. I’ve stranded couples in blizzards in cottages and castles where they had to find ways to stay warm (oh and there are ways!), I’ve sent them traveling through snow drifts on urgent missions, and I’ve sent them outside on ice-thick ponds to play the old sport of curling, which originated in Scotland.
In “The Snow Rose,” my novella set in 16th century Scotland, re-released in the anthology Christmas Roses, the heroine and hero are stranded in a Highland cottage during a snowstorm on New Year’s Eve. The roof collapses, a cow wanders in from the cold, and Kenneth Fraser and Catriona MacDonald simply must find some way to not only get along under adverse conditions—but keep toasty warm, which requires a truce of sorts. In “A Wilder Wench,” my story in the Wench Christmas collection, Mischief and Mistletoe, the story is set during a snowstorm as the heroine holds up a coach (she has a good reason!), and the hero tackles her to bring her in from the cold—just the two of them—to discover her purpose.
Snow and cold offer all sorts of great opportunities in romance – and a snowy setting can be lovely, enchanting and very romantic. Some of my favorite books over the years have had winter settings, such as Mrs. Mike and Dylan Thomas’s A Child’s Christmas in Wales. And who could forget the ice palace in Dr. Zhivago – or the enchanted winter scenes in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe or "The Snow Queen”?
Do you enjoy reading winter settings in fiction (at any season of the year)? What do you love – or not love – about winter-set novels? Do you have some favorites? We'd love to know your thoughts!
I read ‘The Scandal Before Christmas’ by Elizabeth Essex recently, and while the weather wasn’t ‘magical’ I thought it really captured the English winter.
Another Australian here, and this pretty much sums up how I feel about it!:
“But in Australia, Christmas comes in summer, so for me, winter stories with ice and snow were all part of the fantasy of having “a proper Christmas.””
I’ve had five Northern Hemisphere Christmases (including a few in England) and still no snow! I did manage to experience snow AFTER Christmas, however…
I read ‘The Scandal Before Christmas’ by Elizabeth Essex recently, and while the weather wasn’t ‘magical’ I thought it really captured the English winter.
Another Australian here, and this pretty much sums up how I feel about it!:
“But in Australia, Christmas comes in summer, so for me, winter stories with ice and snow were all part of the fantasy of having “a proper Christmas.””
I’ve had five Northern Hemisphere Christmases (including a few in England) and still no snow! I did manage to experience snow AFTER Christmas, however…
I read ‘The Scandal Before Christmas’ by Elizabeth Essex recently, and while the weather wasn’t ‘magical’ I thought it really captured the English winter.
Another Australian here, and this pretty much sums up how I feel about it!:
“But in Australia, Christmas comes in summer, so for me, winter stories with ice and snow were all part of the fantasy of having “a proper Christmas.””
I’ve had five Northern Hemisphere Christmases (including a few in England) and still no snow! I did manage to experience snow AFTER Christmas, however…
I read ‘The Scandal Before Christmas’ by Elizabeth Essex recently, and while the weather wasn’t ‘magical’ I thought it really captured the English winter.
Another Australian here, and this pretty much sums up how I feel about it!:
“But in Australia, Christmas comes in summer, so for me, winter stories with ice and snow were all part of the fantasy of having “a proper Christmas.””
I’ve had five Northern Hemisphere Christmases (including a few in England) and still no snow! I did manage to experience snow AFTER Christmas, however…
I read ‘The Scandal Before Christmas’ by Elizabeth Essex recently, and while the weather wasn’t ‘magical’ I thought it really captured the English winter.
Another Australian here, and this pretty much sums up how I feel about it!:
“But in Australia, Christmas comes in summer, so for me, winter stories with ice and snow were all part of the fantasy of having “a proper Christmas.””
I’ve had five Northern Hemisphere Christmases (including a few in England) and still no snow! I did manage to experience snow AFTER Christmas, however…
I remember the year my father commented on how rare it was to have a green Christmas as we did that year. Since I grew up a little east of Buffalo, you can imagine the rarity of that green Christmas. Snow is pretty when it’s fresh, and walking in the snow while holding your boyfriend’s hand is magical.
But digging out your car or clearing the front walk gets old fast. *G*
I remember the year my father commented on how rare it was to have a green Christmas as we did that year. Since I grew up a little east of Buffalo, you can imagine the rarity of that green Christmas. Snow is pretty when it’s fresh, and walking in the snow while holding your boyfriend’s hand is magical.
But digging out your car or clearing the front walk gets old fast. *G*
I remember the year my father commented on how rare it was to have a green Christmas as we did that year. Since I grew up a little east of Buffalo, you can imagine the rarity of that green Christmas. Snow is pretty when it’s fresh, and walking in the snow while holding your boyfriend’s hand is magical.
But digging out your car or clearing the front walk gets old fast. *G*
I remember the year my father commented on how rare it was to have a green Christmas as we did that year. Since I grew up a little east of Buffalo, you can imagine the rarity of that green Christmas. Snow is pretty when it’s fresh, and walking in the snow while holding your boyfriend’s hand is magical.
But digging out your car or clearing the front walk gets old fast. *G*
I remember the year my father commented on how rare it was to have a green Christmas as we did that year. Since I grew up a little east of Buffalo, you can imagine the rarity of that green Christmas. Snow is pretty when it’s fresh, and walking in the snow while holding your boyfriend’s hand is magical.
But digging out your car or clearing the front walk gets old fast. *G*
Of the wenches’ books, I remember winter and Christmas in Jo Beverley’s Winter Fire. The two were characters from the first encounters on snowy day (on the road and at the inn) to the “food fight” at the end with Christmas goodies.
I’ve had had glorious 70 degree Christmas days and magical Christmas eve’s when the flakes were covering the ground. Sometimes real-life Christmas is magical, especially when I am surrounded by friends or family. But there are other Christmases where the ghosts are too near or my loved ones too far away.
Winter ranks as my least favorite season to live through; it’s much nicer in fiction. I don’t like the short days, especially the further north that I am. Snow is beautiful when it falls while I am safely at home. It looks really grey and slippery when it’s on a highway. Cold is bracing when it’s a short dash from a warm car to a welcoming hearth; it is just miserable when waiting for the bus that’s running late.
Of the wenches’ books, I remember winter and Christmas in Jo Beverley’s Winter Fire. The two were characters from the first encounters on snowy day (on the road and at the inn) to the “food fight” at the end with Christmas goodies.
I’ve had had glorious 70 degree Christmas days and magical Christmas eve’s when the flakes were covering the ground. Sometimes real-life Christmas is magical, especially when I am surrounded by friends or family. But there are other Christmases where the ghosts are too near or my loved ones too far away.
Winter ranks as my least favorite season to live through; it’s much nicer in fiction. I don’t like the short days, especially the further north that I am. Snow is beautiful when it falls while I am safely at home. It looks really grey and slippery when it’s on a highway. Cold is bracing when it’s a short dash from a warm car to a welcoming hearth; it is just miserable when waiting for the bus that’s running late.
Of the wenches’ books, I remember winter and Christmas in Jo Beverley’s Winter Fire. The two were characters from the first encounters on snowy day (on the road and at the inn) to the “food fight” at the end with Christmas goodies.
I’ve had had glorious 70 degree Christmas days and magical Christmas eve’s when the flakes were covering the ground. Sometimes real-life Christmas is magical, especially when I am surrounded by friends or family. But there are other Christmases where the ghosts are too near or my loved ones too far away.
Winter ranks as my least favorite season to live through; it’s much nicer in fiction. I don’t like the short days, especially the further north that I am. Snow is beautiful when it falls while I am safely at home. It looks really grey and slippery when it’s on a highway. Cold is bracing when it’s a short dash from a warm car to a welcoming hearth; it is just miserable when waiting for the bus that’s running late.
Of the wenches’ books, I remember winter and Christmas in Jo Beverley’s Winter Fire. The two were characters from the first encounters on snowy day (on the road and at the inn) to the “food fight” at the end with Christmas goodies.
I’ve had had glorious 70 degree Christmas days and magical Christmas eve’s when the flakes were covering the ground. Sometimes real-life Christmas is magical, especially when I am surrounded by friends or family. But there are other Christmases where the ghosts are too near or my loved ones too far away.
Winter ranks as my least favorite season to live through; it’s much nicer in fiction. I don’t like the short days, especially the further north that I am. Snow is beautiful when it falls while I am safely at home. It looks really grey and slippery when it’s on a highway. Cold is bracing when it’s a short dash from a warm car to a welcoming hearth; it is just miserable when waiting for the bus that’s running late.
Of the wenches’ books, I remember winter and Christmas in Jo Beverley’s Winter Fire. The two were characters from the first encounters on snowy day (on the road and at the inn) to the “food fight” at the end with Christmas goodies.
I’ve had had glorious 70 degree Christmas days and magical Christmas eve’s when the flakes were covering the ground. Sometimes real-life Christmas is magical, especially when I am surrounded by friends or family. But there are other Christmases where the ghosts are too near or my loved ones too far away.
Winter ranks as my least favorite season to live through; it’s much nicer in fiction. I don’t like the short days, especially the further north that I am. Snow is beautiful when it falls while I am safely at home. It looks really grey and slippery when it’s on a highway. Cold is bracing when it’s a short dash from a warm car to a welcoming hearth; it is just miserable when waiting for the bus that’s running late.
Shannon, I think you’re absolutely right – winter is SO much nicer in fiction than in daily reality, slogging through the snow and dealing with the ice and the cold and the shoveling and so on! It’s easy to idealize the beauty and mystical peaceful qualities of snowy weather, and that’s perfect for fiction.
And “where the ghosts are too near or my loved ones too far away” — that’s just lovely, so well said.
Shannon, I think you’re absolutely right – winter is SO much nicer in fiction than in daily reality, slogging through the snow and dealing with the ice and the cold and the shoveling and so on! It’s easy to idealize the beauty and mystical peaceful qualities of snowy weather, and that’s perfect for fiction.
And “where the ghosts are too near or my loved ones too far away” — that’s just lovely, so well said.
Shannon, I think you’re absolutely right – winter is SO much nicer in fiction than in daily reality, slogging through the snow and dealing with the ice and the cold and the shoveling and so on! It’s easy to idealize the beauty and mystical peaceful qualities of snowy weather, and that’s perfect for fiction.
And “where the ghosts are too near or my loved ones too far away” — that’s just lovely, so well said.
Shannon, I think you’re absolutely right – winter is SO much nicer in fiction than in daily reality, slogging through the snow and dealing with the ice and the cold and the shoveling and so on! It’s easy to idealize the beauty and mystical peaceful qualities of snowy weather, and that’s perfect for fiction.
And “where the ghosts are too near or my loved ones too far away” — that’s just lovely, so well said.
Shannon, I think you’re absolutely right – winter is SO much nicer in fiction than in daily reality, slogging through the snow and dealing with the ice and the cold and the shoveling and so on! It’s easy to idealize the beauty and mystical peaceful qualities of snowy weather, and that’s perfect for fiction.
And “where the ghosts are too near or my loved ones too far away” — that’s just lovely, so well said.
We get plenty of green Christmases down here in Maryland, but the winters of my childhood, way up toward Lake George, NY, really were beautiful. Cold, deep, deep snow, probably miserable for the parents to deal with – but for the kids, enchanting, and a perfect environment for Santa and his elves. 😉
We get plenty of green Christmases down here in Maryland, but the winters of my childhood, way up toward Lake George, NY, really were beautiful. Cold, deep, deep snow, probably miserable for the parents to deal with – but for the kids, enchanting, and a perfect environment for Santa and his elves. 😉
We get plenty of green Christmases down here in Maryland, but the winters of my childhood, way up toward Lake George, NY, really were beautiful. Cold, deep, deep snow, probably miserable for the parents to deal with – but for the kids, enchanting, and a perfect environment for Santa and his elves. 😉
We get plenty of green Christmases down here in Maryland, but the winters of my childhood, way up toward Lake George, NY, really were beautiful. Cold, deep, deep snow, probably miserable for the parents to deal with – but for the kids, enchanting, and a perfect environment for Santa and his elves. 😉
We get plenty of green Christmases down here in Maryland, but the winters of my childhood, way up toward Lake George, NY, really were beautiful. Cold, deep, deep snow, probably miserable for the parents to deal with – but for the kids, enchanting, and a perfect environment for Santa and his elves. 😉
Interesting that the Australian summer Christmases can make one yearn for the fantasy winter-wonderland Christmases of books and movies and such. I wonder if living in Florida or California or other fairly warm places in the States has the same effect … I can’t say from personal experience, having always been on the east coast!
I could really yearn for an English Christmas, though. That’s the stuff of Christmas fantasies, right there!
Interesting that the Australian summer Christmases can make one yearn for the fantasy winter-wonderland Christmases of books and movies and such. I wonder if living in Florida or California or other fairly warm places in the States has the same effect … I can’t say from personal experience, having always been on the east coast!
I could really yearn for an English Christmas, though. That’s the stuff of Christmas fantasies, right there!
Interesting that the Australian summer Christmases can make one yearn for the fantasy winter-wonderland Christmases of books and movies and such. I wonder if living in Florida or California or other fairly warm places in the States has the same effect … I can’t say from personal experience, having always been on the east coast!
I could really yearn for an English Christmas, though. That’s the stuff of Christmas fantasies, right there!
Interesting that the Australian summer Christmases can make one yearn for the fantasy winter-wonderland Christmases of books and movies and such. I wonder if living in Florida or California or other fairly warm places in the States has the same effect … I can’t say from personal experience, having always been on the east coast!
I could really yearn for an English Christmas, though. That’s the stuff of Christmas fantasies, right there!
Interesting that the Australian summer Christmases can make one yearn for the fantasy winter-wonderland Christmases of books and movies and such. I wonder if living in Florida or California or other fairly warm places in the States has the same effect … I can’t say from personal experience, having always been on the east coast!
I could really yearn for an English Christmas, though. That’s the stuff of Christmas fantasies, right there!
Yes, as a former Midwestern girl now living in California, I’ve never gotten used to warm, sunny weather for Christmas. I miss December snow; January snow, not so much. 😉
Yes, as a former Midwestern girl now living in California, I’ve never gotten used to warm, sunny weather for Christmas. I miss December snow; January snow, not so much. 😉
Yes, as a former Midwestern girl now living in California, I’ve never gotten used to warm, sunny weather for Christmas. I miss December snow; January snow, not so much. 😉
Yes, as a former Midwestern girl now living in California, I’ve never gotten used to warm, sunny weather for Christmas. I miss December snow; January snow, not so much. 😉
Yes, as a former Midwestern girl now living in California, I’ve never gotten used to warm, sunny weather for Christmas. I miss December snow; January snow, not so much. 😉
I picked up a Christmas anthology one summer and reading it by the pool, I found myself chilled. It really is amazing what the mind can do to the body. Unfortunately, I have never had a tropical set novel warm me up in the winter.
I picked up a Christmas anthology one summer and reading it by the pool, I found myself chilled. It really is amazing what the mind can do to the body. Unfortunately, I have never had a tropical set novel warm me up in the winter.
I picked up a Christmas anthology one summer and reading it by the pool, I found myself chilled. It really is amazing what the mind can do to the body. Unfortunately, I have never had a tropical set novel warm me up in the winter.
I picked up a Christmas anthology one summer and reading it by the pool, I found myself chilled. It really is amazing what the mind can do to the body. Unfortunately, I have never had a tropical set novel warm me up in the winter.
I picked up a Christmas anthology one summer and reading it by the pool, I found myself chilled. It really is amazing what the mind can do to the body. Unfortunately, I have never had a tropical set novel warm me up in the winter.
A Christmas story can be like a chilled drink on a hot day – totally agree! I don’t recall reading a lot of tropical settings, but good point! 🙂
A Christmas story can be like a chilled drink on a hot day – totally agree! I don’t recall reading a lot of tropical settings, but good point! 🙂
A Christmas story can be like a chilled drink on a hot day – totally agree! I don’t recall reading a lot of tropical settings, but good point! 🙂
A Christmas story can be like a chilled drink on a hot day – totally agree! I don’t recall reading a lot of tropical settings, but good point! 🙂
A Christmas story can be like a chilled drink on a hot day – totally agree! I don’t recall reading a lot of tropical settings, but good point! 🙂
As a child I was hidden away with my family deep in the Idaho mountains, quite literally 100 miles from nowhere. We walked every day to a small one room schoolhouse tucked away in the trees along the dirt and gravel road to the mysterious outside world. The distance to the school was about four miles for us, but some children came much further than that. Some rode horses, or were hauled the distance on the back of an ancient flatbed lumber truck. We walked.
The trip to school was always an adventure to me. I wore long stockings under long underwear and over that overalls, flannel shirt, and a snow suit. Two pairs of socks, sturdy shoes, and rubber galoshes that buckled up the front. Our mother made woolen mittens and hats that covered our ears. We were like little stuffed dolls trudging through the snow.
We spied many small animals along the way briefly braving the scary exposure to find a bite to eat, dashing back for cover at the sight of the strange giants coming along the way. I believed I saw fairies riding on the backs of bits of ice that broke away form the center of the creek and wavered down the ripples on their way to some romantic fairyland world.
I’m sure they were real. I wrote little stories about them.
The sky was mostly blue, the snow pristine, the snow muffled silence intense. I felt safe, alive, and happy, curious about everything along the way. We arrived at the school and hung outer trappings on the wall behind the huge two barrel wood stove that kept us all warm and cozy the rest of the day.
Winter in the mountains is so different from winter in the cities or prairies. The mountains are protective and strong winds are rare. The prairies are miserable sometimes with deep cracking and unrelenting cold, accompanied by winds that cut you to the bone.
Cities are messy and filled with relentless tensions that keep you nervous and unsure like a deer caught in the middle of a highway unsure what to do. I’ve lived in all of those places, but the mountains were always home and winter there does not seem harsh at all, just inevitable and beautiful.
As a child I was hidden away with my family deep in the Idaho mountains, quite literally 100 miles from nowhere. We walked every day to a small one room schoolhouse tucked away in the trees along the dirt and gravel road to the mysterious outside world. The distance to the school was about four miles for us, but some children came much further than that. Some rode horses, or were hauled the distance on the back of an ancient flatbed lumber truck. We walked.
The trip to school was always an adventure to me. I wore long stockings under long underwear and over that overalls, flannel shirt, and a snow suit. Two pairs of socks, sturdy shoes, and rubber galoshes that buckled up the front. Our mother made woolen mittens and hats that covered our ears. We were like little stuffed dolls trudging through the snow.
We spied many small animals along the way briefly braving the scary exposure to find a bite to eat, dashing back for cover at the sight of the strange giants coming along the way. I believed I saw fairies riding on the backs of bits of ice that broke away form the center of the creek and wavered down the ripples on their way to some romantic fairyland world.
I’m sure they were real. I wrote little stories about them.
The sky was mostly blue, the snow pristine, the snow muffled silence intense. I felt safe, alive, and happy, curious about everything along the way. We arrived at the school and hung outer trappings on the wall behind the huge two barrel wood stove that kept us all warm and cozy the rest of the day.
Winter in the mountains is so different from winter in the cities or prairies. The mountains are protective and strong winds are rare. The prairies are miserable sometimes with deep cracking and unrelenting cold, accompanied by winds that cut you to the bone.
Cities are messy and filled with relentless tensions that keep you nervous and unsure like a deer caught in the middle of a highway unsure what to do. I’ve lived in all of those places, but the mountains were always home and winter there does not seem harsh at all, just inevitable and beautiful.
As a child I was hidden away with my family deep in the Idaho mountains, quite literally 100 miles from nowhere. We walked every day to a small one room schoolhouse tucked away in the trees along the dirt and gravel road to the mysterious outside world. The distance to the school was about four miles for us, but some children came much further than that. Some rode horses, or were hauled the distance on the back of an ancient flatbed lumber truck. We walked.
The trip to school was always an adventure to me. I wore long stockings under long underwear and over that overalls, flannel shirt, and a snow suit. Two pairs of socks, sturdy shoes, and rubber galoshes that buckled up the front. Our mother made woolen mittens and hats that covered our ears. We were like little stuffed dolls trudging through the snow.
We spied many small animals along the way briefly braving the scary exposure to find a bite to eat, dashing back for cover at the sight of the strange giants coming along the way. I believed I saw fairies riding on the backs of bits of ice that broke away form the center of the creek and wavered down the ripples on their way to some romantic fairyland world.
I’m sure they were real. I wrote little stories about them.
The sky was mostly blue, the snow pristine, the snow muffled silence intense. I felt safe, alive, and happy, curious about everything along the way. We arrived at the school and hung outer trappings on the wall behind the huge two barrel wood stove that kept us all warm and cozy the rest of the day.
Winter in the mountains is so different from winter in the cities or prairies. The mountains are protective and strong winds are rare. The prairies are miserable sometimes with deep cracking and unrelenting cold, accompanied by winds that cut you to the bone.
Cities are messy and filled with relentless tensions that keep you nervous and unsure like a deer caught in the middle of a highway unsure what to do. I’ve lived in all of those places, but the mountains were always home and winter there does not seem harsh at all, just inevitable and beautiful.
As a child I was hidden away with my family deep in the Idaho mountains, quite literally 100 miles from nowhere. We walked every day to a small one room schoolhouse tucked away in the trees along the dirt and gravel road to the mysterious outside world. The distance to the school was about four miles for us, but some children came much further than that. Some rode horses, or were hauled the distance on the back of an ancient flatbed lumber truck. We walked.
The trip to school was always an adventure to me. I wore long stockings under long underwear and over that overalls, flannel shirt, and a snow suit. Two pairs of socks, sturdy shoes, and rubber galoshes that buckled up the front. Our mother made woolen mittens and hats that covered our ears. We were like little stuffed dolls trudging through the snow.
We spied many small animals along the way briefly braving the scary exposure to find a bite to eat, dashing back for cover at the sight of the strange giants coming along the way. I believed I saw fairies riding on the backs of bits of ice that broke away form the center of the creek and wavered down the ripples on their way to some romantic fairyland world.
I’m sure they were real. I wrote little stories about them.
The sky was mostly blue, the snow pristine, the snow muffled silence intense. I felt safe, alive, and happy, curious about everything along the way. We arrived at the school and hung outer trappings on the wall behind the huge two barrel wood stove that kept us all warm and cozy the rest of the day.
Winter in the mountains is so different from winter in the cities or prairies. The mountains are protective and strong winds are rare. The prairies are miserable sometimes with deep cracking and unrelenting cold, accompanied by winds that cut you to the bone.
Cities are messy and filled with relentless tensions that keep you nervous and unsure like a deer caught in the middle of a highway unsure what to do. I’ve lived in all of those places, but the mountains were always home and winter there does not seem harsh at all, just inevitable and beautiful.
As a child I was hidden away with my family deep in the Idaho mountains, quite literally 100 miles from nowhere. We walked every day to a small one room schoolhouse tucked away in the trees along the dirt and gravel road to the mysterious outside world. The distance to the school was about four miles for us, but some children came much further than that. Some rode horses, or were hauled the distance on the back of an ancient flatbed lumber truck. We walked.
The trip to school was always an adventure to me. I wore long stockings under long underwear and over that overalls, flannel shirt, and a snow suit. Two pairs of socks, sturdy shoes, and rubber galoshes that buckled up the front. Our mother made woolen mittens and hats that covered our ears. We were like little stuffed dolls trudging through the snow.
We spied many small animals along the way briefly braving the scary exposure to find a bite to eat, dashing back for cover at the sight of the strange giants coming along the way. I believed I saw fairies riding on the backs of bits of ice that broke away form the center of the creek and wavered down the ripples on their way to some romantic fairyland world.
I’m sure they were real. I wrote little stories about them.
The sky was mostly blue, the snow pristine, the snow muffled silence intense. I felt safe, alive, and happy, curious about everything along the way. We arrived at the school and hung outer trappings on the wall behind the huge two barrel wood stove that kept us all warm and cozy the rest of the day.
Winter in the mountains is so different from winter in the cities or prairies. The mountains are protective and strong winds are rare. The prairies are miserable sometimes with deep cracking and unrelenting cold, accompanied by winds that cut you to the bone.
Cities are messy and filled with relentless tensions that keep you nervous and unsure like a deer caught in the middle of a highway unsure what to do. I’ve lived in all of those places, but the mountains were always home and winter there does not seem harsh at all, just inevitable and beautiful.
I’m going to read two winter-themed books over the next few days, so I hope it works! It’s around 35-37°C here in Canberra (around 100°F) so I need to cool down somehow!
I’m going to read two winter-themed books over the next few days, so I hope it works! It’s around 35-37°C here in Canberra (around 100°F) so I need to cool down somehow!
I’m going to read two winter-themed books over the next few days, so I hope it works! It’s around 35-37°C here in Canberra (around 100°F) so I need to cool down somehow!
I’m going to read two winter-themed books over the next few days, so I hope it works! It’s around 35-37°C here in Canberra (around 100°F) so I need to cool down somehow!
I’m going to read two winter-themed books over the next few days, so I hope it works! It’s around 35-37°C here in Canberra (around 100°F) so I need to cool down somehow!
LOL – hope the winter reads help cool you down, Sonya! It’s pretty chilly here – so I’ll have to find a summer story to read!
LOL – hope the winter reads help cool you down, Sonya! It’s pretty chilly here – so I’ll have to find a summer story to read!
LOL – hope the winter reads help cool you down, Sonya! It’s pretty chilly here – so I’ll have to find a summer story to read!
LOL – hope the winter reads help cool you down, Sonya! It’s pretty chilly here – so I’ll have to find a summer story to read!
LOL – hope the winter reads help cool you down, Sonya! It’s pretty chilly here – so I’ll have to find a summer story to read!