Long before I had ever watched an episode of Gilmore Girls, I was saying I smelled snow. Not only did I smell it, I felt it in my being, my very soul. I craved that chilly blanket of powder in the winter with a deep longing. 

I was a different person then; slightly younger (not by much, mind you) and I lived in a different area where if it did snow, it was nothing short of a miracle. That area being south of I-20, as we all know, anything above I-20 or I-85 can get not just snow, but ice. 

But as a child, I had lived through Snow Jam ‘82 and thought that was amazing. 

Even though meteorology didn’t have the technology back then that we do now, the weather folks evidently were able to predict a big storm was coming with decent accuracy.

Mama’s work called her in, knowing that if a snowstorm hit, they’d need as many phone operators in the office as they could get. 

“I was actually wanting to see if I could maybe take a vacation day,” she said meekly. 

“Jean, you need to get on in here,” her supervisor said. “And go ahead and pack an overnight bag with some essentials for a few days.”

Hearing word that we may be getting some snow, my first thought was to get snacks and books. 

Forty years later, not much has changed. 

A trip to the library yielded 10 books. I was shocked there wasn’t a mad rush there like there was at the Piggly Wiggly. 

“It ain’t gonna do nothing,” Granny huffed. “This is all a big dadblamed scheme sponsored by the bread and milk people to get us rushing to the store.”

“You did get milk didn’t you?” my grandfather asked. “You know I like snow cream.”

Granny sighed. “Yes, I got milk, Bob. But you ain’t gonna get no snow cream. It ain’t gonna snow.”

But it did. A heavy blanket of snow that trapped us all inside for about a week. 

The yard was covered so densely that the reflection of the snow illuminated the night and made it look as if a spotlight was somehow shining through the windows. 

I slept on a palette of quilts and blankets on the floor of my grandparent's bedroom, nestled tightly with my cat for added warmth and company, and a book shoved under my pillow.

The snow made Granny cuss. 

“Why do you hate it so much?” I asked her. 

“Because,” she began. “You can’t do nothing when it snows.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant exactly. I was all cozied up with some books, my cat, a box of Swiss Cake Rolls, and if Mama had been there, it would have been perfection. 

“It’s just a great big pain,” she continued. “And you listen here, you better be a-praying we don’t lose power. Then we will be in a mess.” 

My young mind hadn’t thought about that possibility or the implications of it. 

“Trust me,” Granny said. “If you was an adult, you would know better than to be excited about snow.”

But I wasn’t an adult, not then anyway. I was excited about the snow and being able to stay home from school to read my books. It was like the world had been put on pause for a brief while and we had a moment to just rest. 

Thankfully, the power didn’t go out because our stove was electric and I am not sure how we would have fared with Pop and Bobby cooped up in the house for a week without any television. It may have been disastrous. 

Since our driveway was a hard downward slope, there was no getting out to go to town. By the time Mama was able to pull up in her Monte Carlo, Granny and Pop had run to the top of the driveway, yelling for her to not pull down so they could go to town. 

Apparently, after two days of snow cream, my grandfather was over it. Or maybe it was me asking him if he really wanted to eat something that was made from an ingredient he scooped up off the ground that made him reconsider. 

Once I got older, I realized that having a snow storm may not be restful but meant a lot of worrying about what may happen. Making sure everything is safe and sound and you’re all prepared can be quite exhausting. 

As I write this, there’s a lot of talk about snow. A major winter event it’s being called. I sighed. 

Part of me wants snow. The magical serenity and beauty it brings. 

And then there’s another part — the adult part — that’s hoping it won’t be anything at all. 

Sudie Crouch is an award-winning humor columnist residing in the North Georgia Mountains among the bears, deer, and possibly Sasquatch. You can connect with her on Facebook at Mama Said: A Collection of Wit, Humor, and Deep-Fried Wisdom. Her recently published book, ‘Mama Said: A Collection of Wit, Wisdom, and Deep-Fried Humor’ is available in paperback and Kindle download on Amazon.