Snow Hunters

This rarely happens to us.  But we've been usually blessed with truly extraordinary happenings. 
Last weekend I had asked Aaron if we take the boys to find snow so they could play in it before the winter ends, and the rain resumes for the next six months, and "go outside and play" translates to "roll in the mud and have fun."  He thought that would be fine, and we agreed to go as far as Government Camp.  But just last night the news changed from snow at the 3000 level to lower elevations.  And this morning, as I was making cranberry orange muffins and scrambled eggs for breakfast before church, AJ pointed out the window and shouted "it's snowing!"  Skeptical, I peeked out to see massive fluffy flakes dropping in our yard, to melt into the grass or on the patio.  The wonder of it muted all three of us, and we watched in somber silence.

After church we swung into Safeway for some hot deli sandwiches, and stopped in the house to get layers for warmth, load the sled, and make hot cocoa for the thermos.  Then like true adventurists, we were off to God-knew-where to play in the snow. We headed east to the Cascade Mountains, Washougal, specifically, knowing that the higher elevation that way would nearly guarantee snow. 

Eventually, we found it.  And this is the cool part. 

Three years ago after church on a hot summer day, we did something very similar:  make sandwiches at home, fill our water bottles, pack munchies and treats, and headed off in the hope to find a cold mountain runoff that wasn't bursting with fellow town people like us seeking refreshment in the heat.  After driving aimlessly for almost two hours, backtracking on winding mountain roads, passing up popular watering holes due to swarming swimsuit-clad crowds, we stumbled upon this tiny park with a covered dining area, small toys, and a cold creek no more than a foot deep at the deepest.  It was so perfect.  Today, we managed to once again stumble on this secret little park, and not to splash in the water, but to play instead in the snow.  The blessing was the small hill against the road was ideal for sledding. 

Cold and wet after over an hour of fun, snowballs and sledding with the enchanting aroma of snow in pine as snow fell heavy fat flakes, we peeled off the boys' wet boots, pulled up their dry sweatpants and socks, bundled them in with the Superman blanket we keep in the car, and poured out the steaming hot cocoa topped with bobbing marshmallows.  Toasty and tired, we trekked home, this time remembering the way to our special place that beckons us when we search for it.
What an awesome weekend.