I love Ozark weather. Well, it's really the seasons of the Ozarks that I love. I think it's quite a treat to live in an area where I can truly experience all four seasons, even if some of the resulting weather isn't as comfortable as I'd like. Today is a good example...
When I rose this morning and glimpsed through the window our frozen pond, I shivered bit. As I gazed at the frost dusting the ice-glazed surface, I marveled at how different it looked just a few months ago, and then I smiled. I smiled because I was reminded of a different day, a different season on those same waters. Treacherous waters they were then, because that was the day the Vikings invaded our homestead.
When I rose this morning and glimpsed through the window our frozen pond, I shivered bit. As I gazed at the frost dusting the ice-glazed surface, I marveled at how different it looked just a few months ago, and then I smiled. I smiled because I was reminded of a different day, a different season on those same waters. Treacherous waters they were then, because that was the day the Vikings invaded our homestead.
It was Will's eighth birthday party, the height of summer, with the sweltering heat measuring well over 100 degrees. Will had decided that the pond was where we needed to be, and then his imagination carried him away like a Viking ship sailing to new lands. Great Grandpa's fishing boat became that Viking ship, Great-great Aunt Pauline's scarves found new life as Nordic flags, and my old pie plates morphed into Viking clan crests. It was fantastic.
The battle altar was laid out near the fortress--more commonly known as our old Shasta trailer, and was stocked with weapons (water gun swords), armor (picnic plate shields), and whatever other "Viking-like" treasures we found when we raided my attic stash.
The newly initiated and appropriately adorned warriors patrolled the grassy marsh, searching for enemy raiders and taking captive rebel clans...
And even attacking rival sea-faring vessels, aka birthday cakes. And then the feasting began.
Since Vikings aren't known for their table manners, the feast was brimming with traditional eat-with-your-hands warrior fare--chicken legs, baby-back ribs, and hotdogs. Yes, Vikings ate hotdogs. Check your history books...but don't tell me what you find.
When the feasting ended, the battle cries faded, and the choppy waters calmed; the warriors slowly trekked home. The day slid into night, the summer into fall, and before we knew it, the year was gone.
But the world never stops turning. As I sit here at my claw-foot desk, with the warmth of the wood stove swirling around me, I can hear the winter wind whistling past my windows. And I know that change is in that wind. It always is. This old cold weather won't last forever, and before long that frozen pond will come alive. The birds will sing, the grass will green, and the calender will loudly proclaim "Spring!".
But let's not rush it. Everything has its season, and I want to appreciate those seasons for as long as they last. And then I'm ready for the next one--especially if it brings with it those vicious Viking raiders, lead by that ferocious clan king who just so happens to snuggle next to me each night.
Did someone just say "Long live the King!!"? Oh, right. That was me...
And I meant it with my whole heart.
Since Vikings aren't known for their table manners, the feast was brimming with traditional eat-with-your-hands warrior fare--chicken legs, baby-back ribs, and hotdogs. Yes, Vikings ate hotdogs. Check your history books...but don't tell me what you find.
When the feasting ended, the battle cries faded, and the choppy waters calmed; the warriors slowly trekked home. The day slid into night, the summer into fall, and before we knew it, the year was gone.
But the world never stops turning. As I sit here at my claw-foot desk, with the warmth of the wood stove swirling around me, I can hear the winter wind whistling past my windows. And I know that change is in that wind. It always is. This old cold weather won't last forever, and before long that frozen pond will come alive. The birds will sing, the grass will green, and the calender will loudly proclaim "Spring!".
But let's not rush it. Everything has its season, and I want to appreciate those seasons for as long as they last. And then I'm ready for the next one--especially if it brings with it those vicious Viking raiders, lead by that ferocious clan king who just so happens to snuggle next to me each night.
Did someone just say "Long live the King!!"? Oh, right. That was me...
And I meant it with my whole heart.
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