I woke up to the snow, but didn’t really give it much attention (other than groaning at the delay of Spring) until I tried to step outside for a quick jaunt to visit “the ladies” to gather some eggs.  I say that I “tried” to step outside since at first I couldn’t tell where the steps up from our basement were.  The three squat steps from our basement door to the driveway had been reduced to a fluffy hill of snow, with no indication of where each individual step might be.  I stood there for a moment, confused, as if trying to remember what the landscape was supposed to look like.   In my defense I hadn’t had any coffee yet, and my only goal was to get the eggs quickly so that I could make breakfast in time for the gold medal men’s hockey game between Canada and Sweden.

So I girded myself, clutched my egg basket tightly, and plunged outside into what I hoped was the path to the hen house.  I more or less found the stairs and with my sorely abused pink Uggs, plowed my way up the low rise.  With each step my boots disappeared into the 2+ feet deep drifts, and with each step some snow made its way into my boots.  Who needs coffee, a little snow inside your sockless boots will get you going in the morning.  Snow hat flopping.  Egg basket dangling.  Balance swerving with each step into where I hoped the path to the chicken house lay.  I was a picture of beauty and grace, and hopefully I was the only witness to my progress.

My poor, abused boots disappearing into the snow they were not designed to handle.

Once I retrieved the eggs, I realized that I hadn’t considered the difficulties of returning to the house through the deep snow with a basket full of eggs.  Luckily both the eggs and I returned to the house unscathed, if a bit frozen around the edges. With the eggs secured for breakfast I put together a “fancy” version of Eggs-in-a-Hole.  In the spirit of the gold medal game I used a maple leaf cookie cutter to cut the Canadian symbol into our toast.  Little Man got the more traditional torn out hole for his toast to accommodate his Scrambled-Eggs-in-a-Hole.

A fancy version of Eggs-in-a-Hole in honor of the Canadian men’s gold medal hockey game against Sweden.

Alas my yolk broke for this picture, but in my defense my fingers were still frozen and I really wanted to get the food served so I could watch the game.  Little Man’s toast was torn to accommodate the volume of his Scrambled-Eggs-in-a-Hole.

My well-intentioned ode to Canadian hockey.

After breakfast and with two gold medals in hockey for Canada we donned whatever snow-sort-of gear that we had (we are still woefully under equipped for weather) and ventured outside.  The snow came up to Little Man’s hips, and he was not impressed until we got him out onto the “sort of plowed” road where he could run and move more easily.

The snow came up to Little Man’s waist, yet his dad doesn’t seem to mind.

Trucking down the “sort of plowed” road.

Hoops, anyone?

When we couldn’t take the cold anymore, we retreated back to the house.  Little Man had a well deserved warm bath, and then we all were treated to steaming mugs of Auntie Erin’s Hot Cocoa.  The past present to ourselves on our Big Snow Day was an afternoon nap.  Bodies tired out from playing in the snow.  Bellies warm and filled with cocoa.  Toddler snoozing in the other room, and us sprawled gracelessly across the bed.  It was heaven.

A fairytale wilderness