Thanksgiving brought the magic kind of snow.
It was just enough to be real snow (instead of meltable flurries),
but not enough to make things icy and treacherous.
So I woke up and fed my baby, then snuck out to be alone in it.
The only evidence anyone had seen it but me
were Clara's excited footprints in the front lawn from the night before.
Oh, and if you could have seen that little muffin in the snow.
"Come wif me! I found somesing! It's ice!"
*entering the room in underwear and her rainboots* "I'm going to run in the snow. I am!"
I think too often I have taken for granted the place I grew up.
There was so much adventure and things to do and places to go all in my backyard.
(Mind you, I didn't grow up where these pictures were taken exactly, but we still couldn't see our neighbors)
The weather is mild and every drive within a 20 mile radius is breathtaking.
And now holidays with my family are so nice and I'm able to appreciate it all.
You can walk outside and be alone in the quiet, or go for a drive, or a run,
or play with the dogs, or ride a horse, or collect rocks, or shoot targets, and the list goes on.
It's a pretty unique thing to have what we have.
Thanks grandpa, and George Baber, and dad for keeping the ranch all these years.