Although I now live in sunny San Diego, California, I spent forty-five years in the midwest region of the country, specifically, Chicago, Illinois.

I remember the cold, the sound of snow crunching under foot, small ice patches on the sloping sidewalks, and especially the wind.

The sidewalks needed to be shoveled, steps needed to be clear and salted. Streets were plowed, creating large piles of snow along the curbs.

The cars and trucks took on a spray of salt and dirty snow. The windshield always needed to be scrapped. The defrosters and heaters turned on to offset the chill.

We had a tree in front of the house where I grew up. The branches would catch the snow when it fell and accumulate ice from the sleet. All the trees in the neighborhood were like that.

I never enjoyed the Winter. Warm weather is to my liking and betterment. I learned to wait for the Spring and watched the trees. The trees always knew when to start budding and that was a sure sign that Winter was over. It always took longer then it should.

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Don