As long as you love me so...

Let it snow.

My thoughts on snow have changed over the years.

As a kid growing up in Indiana, a decent snowfall typically meant a break from school. Half a foot was enough to shut down the buses. It would usually melt within a couple of days, but in the meantime, my friends and I would wear ourselves out on the hill behind the Episcopal church.

We’d also make snow ice cream, a concoction of snow, cream, sugar, and vanilla that was never quite as good as anticipated.

I longed for snow. Occasionally it hid the boring landscape of southern Indiana well enough that I could pretend I was somewhere else, wilder and wintrier. In junior high, I used money from my paper route to buy Sorel paks and a heavy wool coat.

Eventually, I moved to Montana where I wasn’t the only person dressed in such a fashion.

I got my fill of snow when I lived in Cooke City. It was unrelenting at times, sifting down non-stop for days, even weeks. I skied or rode a snow machine everywhere I went. Fun at first, the novelty wore off after a couple of winters, and I tired of shoveling out the windows on my cabin just so I could have light.

After Cooke, I moved to Livingston where it snows, but never lasts too long. Either the howling wind or a Chinook would clear the ground within a couple of weeks of a snowstorm.

Then I moved over the hill to Bozeman and back to a permanent snow-covered winter landscape. As pretty as it is, however, Bozeman was simply too busy for me.

Barb and I fled to the hinterlands of rural Montana more than 10 years ago. For the first couple of winters, I got buy with shoveling what scant snow fell her3e on the prairie. The winter of 2011-12 changed that. It started snowing Nov. 9 and didn’t stop for weeks. By the end of winter, I had invested in a couple of snowblowers, including a big one for my tractor.

I haven’t really needed them since -- not until this winter anyway -- and now the tractor isn’t running.

There’s a foot and half of snow on the ground and it isn’t going anywhere. We don’t get Chinooks up here. But in the meantime, everything is nicely covered in white, and my yard looks as pretty as anyone’s. Even the dog poop is hidden.

I’ll try to remember that in case I get a hankering for snow ice cream.

Parker Heinlein is at [email protected]