I have always loved a snow day, and growing up in Blue Ridge, Georgia, we had lots of them. Mom taught us how to prepare for hours of fun. Layer after layer.

• Long johns
• A couple of pairs of socks
• Plastic baggies tied with a bread tie
• A pair of jeans
• A couple of T-shirts
• Sweatshirt
• Coat
• Galoshes that had two little buttons and elastic loops to tighten them around your leg.
• Gloves
• Plastic baggies tied with a bread tie
• Mittens
• Toboggans with a tassel

“Let’s meet at the top of the hill at 10:00”

Most everyone in the neighborhood was laying up. The older kids would ride their wooden sleds down the steep road. When one slide down, he or she was the look out, to make sure no car was inching around the sharp curve at the bottom of the hill.

“Gail, get on your knees.”

My sister climbed on behind her friend. While she was on her knees, he sat on his bottom and steered the sled down the icy road with his feet. As they neared the bottom, one of the wooden slabs broke. They went slipping and sliding downward and swerved just enough not to go soaring off they ten foot drop off. As the older girls got tired of flying down the hill, they would move onto building a snowman. They had a system. The girls would begin the snowballs while the boys rolled the giant snow boulders back and forth across the yards. Their goal was simple: Build a snowman bigger than the one created during the last snowfall. I think their record was a twelve footer.

Up to six feet at times

My little sister, my best childhood friend, and I would grab our plastic sleds and begin. Having the label “you’re too young to go down that icy road” forced us to find a sweet spot on the snow covered grass. We slid until the fraction had caused some sprigs of grass poked through. Then we would scoot over a bit and start making a new slope. Over and over. Our goal was more simple than that of our older siblings: Slide so fast that we could not stop ourself from the flying off three-foot drop. Over the years, we reached that goal often as a present-day tailbone x-ray would have the show the proof needed to back up that claim.

The Routine

When we felt frost bite settling in, we knew the routine.

• Stomp the snow off your boots
• Strip down to the layer that is not wet
• Come inside
• Go directly to the dryer with your wet clothes and turn them on (so they would be ready when we were nice and toasty and refueled to go back outside
• Put one something warm

Homemade hot chocolate was always simmering on the stove and filled the house with warmth. Mom would go back and forth from the kitchen to the living room carrying our mugs while we sat by the coil heater thawing out. Hearing the little sizzles and crackles from the kitchen, we knew our buttery popcorn was near.

Those magical words: Snow Day!

I think I will always love snow days. When I get wind that one might be drifting into town, I feel the excitement building. As a teacher, I have been called down a time or two when the realization that we might be leaving early develops. I probably deserved both times. Once we watched from the cafeteria as huge flakes cascaded outside the  glass-covered wall. I began dancing with my vice-principal! Then I heard my name over the microphone, “Mrs. Smedley, please calm down! I am trying to give instructions to the students.”

Another time, I got a bit carried away and gave a little hoop-n-holler in the hallway. Several teachers came out and asked me to please tone it down a bit. I just can’t help it. I love living in the South where the anticipation of snow is never a “hear it comes again” dread.

Every time the snow blows into town, I remember the sweet words of Mom. She never missed a snow day call. “Karla, remember God is giving you a snow day to slow down and enjoy family and fun times.”

“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

Thanks, Mom, for the memories and the reminder.

-Karla