Well, sometimes it does snow in Southeast Alaska, despite what I have been saying these many years. I went out this morning to dig out my mother-in-law’s van, scraping wet-cement-style snow, until my nephew, as kind as he is strong, came from down the street to help. I was scraping as loudly as possible, so maybe he heard the noise. I had already taken my hat off, so my sad gray hair would show, but this strategy had not summoned any neighbors.

I keep thinking about another mid-March madness, way on back in 1966 in Virginia. I was in first grade that year, and we had a springtime dump like the one I’m experiencing now. At that time we built a huge igloo in the side yard and may or may not have actually camped out in there. Somewhere, there is a black and white picture of me in my striped stocking hat that my mother knitted, eating a wad of snow, sitting in the mouth of our homemade cave. School was cancelled for many days.

Then there was that time in Richmond, Va, when I was just out of high school and living in my very first apartment. We had another huge spring snowfall, and everybody was in the ditch. My car, like everybody else’s, had summer tires, so nobody was going anywhere. There aren’t many snowplows in Richmond. My friend Alice and I went out to a small park in the Fan District and built a magnificent snow sculpture. We created a buxom lady, with big hair, holding up the skirt of her madam-style dress to show one gorgeous leg. That sculpture made the paper; someday I might come across the picture again.

This snow is exactly right for sculpting. Maybe I’ll get inspired.