< by Jill >

On Thanksgiving morning, I shimmied into spandex tights and pulled on a technical tee for a run with my dad.  We trotted around one of Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes, exchanging smiles and hellos with fellow joggers. Along the way, we spotted trumpeter swans, wild turkeys, and a herd of white-tailed deer with mangy, tufted coats.

As we rounded the final bend toward home, an icy wind assailed us. It burrowed through my ears, stinging my brain and stealing my breath. “I don’t remember that wind from when we started,” my dad said. I didn’t remember it either.

Fast-forward a few hours: The kitchen radiates with the warmth and aroma of turkey, mashed potatoes, and biscuits. We circle up for the blessing when my niece observes, “It’s snowing!” Sure enough, tiny  snowflakes migrate from heaven to earth.

Overnight, the snowflakes piled up and the temperature dropped 47 degrees. As if cued by our dinner prayer, the season changed and set a textbook scene for Christmas.

The forecast looks pretty chilly from here on out, so it seems like an opportune moment to share winter tales. In Monday’s story, my sister Ann illustrates the importance of layering. She also happens to slander my good name, but hey, I’m not here to censor! I think you’ll all enjoy it. Stay tuned for other stories of ice, snow, and blustery weather.

[… and if you live in a fairer clime, this will be a great chance to vicariously experience winter in America’s heartland. ]