Here’s one for my former newspaper editor. The guy would always run a snow photo on the front page of the newspaper on the hottest day of summer. I confess that I’m torn. I’m so hot that I wish it was cooler but not this cold. I think when I took this photo it was around 18 degrees, and I was standing on the edge of a rocky gorge in northwest PA! The evening wind was whipping around my neck and my feet were frozen from being outside most of the day doing photography. . . . Extremes. Wonder why we always seem to be dealing with extremes?

The last morning we were in western PA, we woke to freshly fallen snow, and as I drank a cup of coffee and gazed out the windows at the sight before me, I couldn’t help but wish that I could stay. The week had been relaxing, fun, and energizing. I even said (out loud), “I could stay another day or two. After all, I don’t need to be back in the office for another three days.” Reluctantly, I got up and finished packing my suitcase. We drove to the airport in near silence. Everyone was rethinking all we had seen—the meals we had shared and the photos that we had taken with our hearts.

Later, at the Pittsburg airport, I watched a parade of snow plows race down a nearby runway and listened to the person next to me talk about the “major snow storm” that was bearing down on the part of the state where I had vacationed. “Maybe, it is best that I’m leaving,” I mused.

Then yesterday, I received an email from the friends that had journeyed with me around Lake Erie saying they had not been able to venture out of their home since I left due to the amount of snow that had fallen. “It is a good thing you came when you did and left, ” they said. “Otherwise, we would have been stuck.

“Stuck,”  I wondered . . . “Stuck in Vermilion or Fairport, or maybe some place overlooking the Allegheny River?” . . . .  No, I really don’t think we would have been stuck at all.

If you have read even one of Jan Karon’s novels about life in the small town of Mitford, you will understand that when I spotted this church, I expected the door to open and Father Tim to step out beckoning me inside for a cup of hot tea and an Irish biscuit.

By the time we reached the Conneaut lighthouse, which is located on the shore of Lake Erie in northeast Ohio, we were braving very cold weather and some light sleet. Still, I made a dumb comment: “The weather up here is wimpy,” I said, “And I really don’t think it is going to snow at all.” The only sound I heard in reply was sort of a “uhh” with a smile added. It is the kind of reply that makes you feel very foolish. The next morning we woke to several inches of snow, icy temperatures, and a forecast that promised more of the same. I was really grateful we were not still trekking around Lake Erie. Instead we were in a warm and cozy home (thanks to newly unwrapped plush cover-ups). And we didn’t venture outside until it was time to meet friends for lunch at 1 o’ clock.

I traveled back to Atlanta at the end of last week but as far as I can tell from watching the Weather Channel, it is still snowing where my friends live! Later this week, the forecast for northeast Georgia includes a light dusting of snow . . . now that is pretty wimpy, don’t you agree?

A comment made by a friend really caught my attention. She said, “I think every bridge that crosses this river is like this one—made of steel.” I just had to get out and take a photo. As I stepped out of the car, I said, “If I have to walk in deep snow, I’m not going to photograph it.” Well, forget that . . . because even though the snow was up to my knees, I could not resist recording this scene. It is so American! The French Creek is located in western PA and is a tributary to the Allegheny River. But the word “creek” is a misnomer and most locals agree and call it The French River. I have to confess that if this is a creek, then all we have in Georgia are trickles.

Another view of the icy French Creek (River) as it speeds along toward the Allegheny River.