The first snow

The hardest part of moving from one home to another is leaving behind the memories. Yes, I have missed certain elements of a specific home’s layout (I still think the huge laundry closet located in the kitchen of the very first home that we owned was brilliant) or just an overall place (our home in Washington will forever be in my heart). But it’s the memories that happened in those spaces that made me ache as we pulled away from the curb, no matter how thrilled I was to be moving on.

But the best part of settling in to a new place?

The first snow

New memories.

The first snow

 

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There was much excitement Friday morning, when the few promised flakes began to swirl outside the window. I could almost hear the story told fifteen years from now: “Remember the first time it snowed at Floating Axe Farm? How we were all gathered together for Bible study, and Momma kept saying, ‘Now, it’s only going to be a few flakes. Don’t get too excited,’ and then it was more than that? And I think it was the longest Bible study ever as we all sat there watching it fall and fall…”

 

The first snow

 

The first snow

 

The first snow

 

“…and then afterward, we all got to go outside for a little while. And it was so much more than they had predicted! And everything was so quiet, and the farm looked so different…”

The first snow

The first snow

The first snow

“…and afterwards, we left a waist-high pile of wet clothes next to the dryer and went in to have hot chocolate. Yeah… that was a pretty good day.”

The first snow

Our first snowfall here. A new memory made. 

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