The First Snowfall: Winter's Official Arrival

Yes, I realize that technically speaking winter doesn't descend upon us until December 22nd. But I've never been one to pin this season to a certain date. In Minnesota, winter plays by its own set of rules and is controlled only by its own whims, not an orderly old calendar. In essence, winter comes when winter wants to come, and you can usually bet that pre-dates the end of December.

Whether you're 5 or 35, there's a certain magic that floats down with the first snowfall. As a child, the very first sign of a snowflake's flutter had us all running to unearth hats, mittens and snowpants that had been stored away sometime in March. Or April, during particularly infuriating Minnesota winters. I would imagine my mother heaved a heavy sigh of "Here we go again" pondering the wet floors and soppy mittens that would soon be a constant in her entryway. But even she anticipated the clean, white snow that would soon cover the ground in a crystalline blanket of lovely winter splendor.

All those years ago, we scooped together bits of that first snowfall and packed snowballs to hurl at one another, happy that a new season had commenced. It heralded the return of sledding and snow forts. It ushered in the months of hot chocolate and the smell of my mother's seasonal baking. It announced Christmas was nigh (even if those first flakes fell in October).

We received nearly two inches of pristine, white snow on Saturday. I dug out mittens and hats, boots and scarves. My kids bundled up and played outside until their cheeks were rosy and their eyelashes were wet and their socks were in need of a warm radiator. "Mommy!" announced my daughter stomping off her snow-covered boots in the entryway. "Winter is HERE!"

Sliding two snowmen mugs onto the table, each filled with hot chocolate and topped with extra marshmallows, I looked at her and winked, remembering my own youthful exuberance over the first snowfall. "You're exactly right, my dear. Winter starts today."

Happy Halloween, M'lady!

When I was young, television and movies portrayed kids trick-or-treating in what I now assume was California. They scurried about in their skin-baring, colorful costumes on bone-dry streets, no coats or mittens hampering their candy-collecting endeavors.

This wasn't really the case for us Minnesota kids. The most elaborate of costumes were usually hidden under puffy parkas or, on a few occasions, full-fledged snowsuits. In fact, the smartest of mothers would actually incorporate winter gear into their kids' homemade costumes. I recall rain, sleet and snow on several occasions, and every once in a very great while, we would have a nice evening, requiring only a light jacket under one's costume.

Therefore, it would seem futile to put a Herculean effort into producing a spectacular, show-stopping costume. However, since sewing my daughter's costume for her dance number to an Annie song when she was three, she has expected me to break out the sewing machine for her Halloween costumes. This was a breeze the year she dressed up as an orphan and then when she convinced me to sew Dorothy's blue and white gingham dress from The Wizard of Oz. But this year, she chose her yearly Halloween costume on our annual trip to the Renaissance Festival. She informed me that I would need to sew a Renaissance princess dress. Oh boy. The upside to this plan? She'd be able to wear it to next year's Renaissance Festival if I made it a skosh larger than necessary.

Now, to be fair, I've never sewn a costume for my son. But he's far happier donning a Star Wars outfit or shimmying into a Power Rangers costume, so I focus my efforts on my daughter's costumes. My first year in college, I worked in the university's theater costume shop sewing Hawaiian shirts for their rendition of South Pacific, fairytale frocks for Into the Woods, and (thankfully now), Elizabethan gowns for Shakespeare's Richard III. I never thought I'd put those skills back into use, but here we are!

Perusing the aisles of the fabric store, we happened upon a brocade woven into a luxurious gold, pale aqua and coral pink tapestry. My daughter's eyes grew wide as she ran her hand across the fabric. It was much more opulent than I would normally be prepared to pay for, but this mom had a 50% off coupon!

It occurred to me a number of times while toiling away at my sewing machine that this costume I was lovingly crafting would be hidden under a large purple coat. But, my daughter awoke each morning and ran downstairs to inspect the progress I'd made the night before on her dress, so I assured myself it was a labor of love.

I finished the gown just in time for Halloween, despite an unplanned round of pneumonia for me – true love, to be sure, to continue basting and hemming while coughing and sneezing. But she was so proud when I finally zipped her up, and the smile on her face as she gracefully lifted her skirts and descended the stairway made it completely and totally worth it.

And, as if the fates knew of my effort, we had an unusually mild Halloween evening. My little Renaissance princess darted from house to house, collecting her candy with her Storm Trooper brother, her costume on full display.

And to think, twenty years earlier, I trudged through the record-breaking 20+ inches of snow with my younger siblings during the great Halloween Blizzard of 1991, my little sister's Snow White gown that I'd sewn stuffed into snowpants and covered with a parka.

I hope you all had a wonderful Halloween! Now on to Thanksgiving!

The Last Hurrah

The brilliance has waned from the tree canopies and the vast majority of the leaves have drifted into heaping, crunchy piles on the lawns, sidewalks and streets. Nighttime falls sooner these days, and the evenings reveal each puff of breath, leading the kids to forage for their mittens in the winter accessory basket.

But, clinging onto this majestic season until the last leaf has forfeited hold onto its branch, I'm intent on soaking up the last autumnal traditions. So when a family from the school my children attend opened their home in the country for a fall festival, I was downright mirthful.

It was a beautiful fall day – crisp, autumn air and sunny. This celebration involved not only a hayride through the woods, a scrumptious potluck and a mountain of leaves for the kids to tumble around in, but also old fashioned cider pressing. This was a first for our family, but a fun new tradition, to be sure!

Two large bins heaped full of Red Baron apples awaited. Old apple cider presses stood at the ready. How would these work, exactly? Would the kids be interested in this? The operation looked suspiciously like hard work. Hmmm.

My husband, the brave one who is always up for trying something new, stepped right up to the hand crank. Apples were poured into the hopper at the top of the apparatus and soon the fun began. As he cranked, the apples were ground up into a pulp-like consistency which fell below to a small, wooden, barrel-looking tub. It looked like a fun way to expel any aggression, grinding away and mashing up those apples, and so the kids soon wanted in on this lark.

Once the tub was full, a cover was placed at the top, which was then screwed down, pressing the apple pulp and squeezing out the juice into a catch pan. Fresh apple cider! Voilà!

The kids were mesmerized. Surely, apple cider comes from the grocery store! What’s all this business, they asked. These discussions always lead into a conversation about “back in the olden days” and whether that timeframe was during my childhood or their grandparents’. I fear what they would think of my age if I ever took them to grind flour or hollow out a canoe from a log.

Taking breaks from the apple press, the kids clambered onto the tire swing, rolled in the leaves, and explored the wooded ravine behind the house. Parents continued with the apple pressing, laughing and chatting over hot, mulled cider.

After supper, as evening fell, the kids snuggled into our laps amid the hay bales arranged on the wagon hitched behind the tractor that pulled us through the harvested cornfields and snaked us through the woods.

We wrapped up the night around the bonfire, discussing the many gallons of apple cider we produced earlier that afternoon, and how this would certainly make for a special treat for Thanksgiving.

Yes, the grocery store still sells apple cider, and yes, it’s a lot less work to buy a gallon. But I’ve always been drawn to the old fashioned way of doing things, whether it’s canning jars upon jars of jams and sauces or hand-dipping candles. It’s a bit of history. It hearkens back to a slower, less-hectic time, and affords me a new appreciation for my forefathers and –mothers. And many times, these old ways of doing things bring people together – just as they did years ago.

Amid the cool weather and last breath of fall colors, this was the best cider I’ve ever tasted in my life. I can’t wait for this day next year. A perfect ending to a perfect fall.