Anyone with grade-school aged kids here knows that they must share some sort of genetic mutation which allows them to sense when a night’s surprise dose of snow will result in school closures.

At 5:30 a.m., my son Ben sticks his nose in my sleeping grill and bellows, “YOU SHOULD SEE ALL THE SNOW OUTSIDE!”

This is the same kid who has to have his covers stolen at 7:20 a.m. to get him out of bed on a school day. But if there’s snow, BAM, he senses the accumulation and is up and ready to partake.

At 5:45, he woke his sister, Maggie, almost 7 years old. Now it’s not even light out and I had two rabid snow chihuahuas to deal with.

At 6:15, they thought it was an injustice that he couldn’t go outside and play, and I’m a bad dad for it.

Then, at 7:40 a.m., Medford finally killed the school day. It would take a Taser to keep these kids inside and I didn’t have bail money, so I relented.

Snowball fights, angels, a snowman that looked a little like Alfred Hitchcock quickly ensued. And that was just me.

They did much of the same, too. Even took batting practice on iceballs that shattered at the crack of aluminum.

When all were good and soaked we changed clothes, put the rig in 4 wheel drive and buzzed around east Medford, purposefully speeding through slush piles to see how far the muck can shoot.

Yeah, that was us. Whaddya expect when you mix 3 inches of snow with two kids and a slightly immature Fish Hack.

Winter’s not always just about winter steelhead. Besides, when the Rogue is running chocolate and the little tax deductions are getting rowdy, a morning in the snow sure can take the edge off a day at the Fish Wrap.

Though my old I-can-sense-there’s-snow-outside gene has gone recessive in middle age, I’m glad my two little mutants were there to take care of me.

This entry was posted on Friday, February 23rd, 2007 at 4:08 pm and is filed under Outdoor Journal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.