Had a little item about snow last week (here). Reader wrote,

Growing up in Mississippi, snow was rare. We prayed hard and often every winter for the white salvation from school. My Calvinist father always told us to accept God’s will cheerfully — and, sure enough, every three or four years He would answer our prayers with a three-inch creation celebration! And guess who had the most fun? Daddy.
My stars and garters! The man transformed into some sort of snow beast — breaking his ribs riding sleds, pegging his children’s sweet faces with snowballs, and so on. The man embraced the gift of snow like no other, giving us the gift of memories. Our yellow labs were always in on the action too, and now my three boys get to watch their granddaddy act like a fool every few years as well.
Those were the days, and so are these.

That letter came from Yazoo City, by the way. And it reminded me of To Kill a Mockingbird — when the older sister (I believe) chides the younger brother for walking on the (very light, quickly melting) snow. “You’re wasting it!”

UPDATE: Readers have written to say that the brother, Jem, is the older one. Thank you!