And Manna Falls

Jan 4, 2010 by winjaw

We awake to another three inches of snow.  Correction – we are awoken by one of the Sons of Thunder thundering into our room and jumping right on me where it really, really hurts to inform us there is more snow.

Let us pause for a moment to recover from said jumping before we venture out.

Okay, I can move now. Sorta.

And yes, we have more snow.  Fortunately, this time without the Artic winds of last week.  Snow, when it’s not driving into your face at 30 mph, is actually very pretty and has a somewhat calming effect.

This time the Sons are properly outfitted with survival gear, and it’s not long before they are out enjoying the whiteness.

And they head up to visit Grand Ann and Pops – their grandparents – and to make sure the tunnel they made from the previous storm has survived.

And Grand Ann suggests they make ice cream.  And the wheels start turning among the Sons.  I know this because they are soon racing into our house yelling and screaming and demanding various supplies.  And tracking up the house the Little Black Dress and I just cleaned up. 

I am enthused by their enthusiasm.  Yet I am also not exactly happy about the snow drifts previously outside that are now inside my house.  However, enthusiasm wins out.

Although I have not spoken directly to the source, it’s my understanding Grand Ann gave them the secret ingredients and methods passed down from generations of yore to make said snow ice cream.  As I recall from my youth, there was actually some type of big hunk of metal – some type of churning device – that was used.

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Tell me the world isn’t changing.  I use splattered, covered and torn up cook books.  My kids use videos from the internet, something that didn’t even exist when I was growing up.

Anyway, there’s a lot of running back and forth between the kitchen and the computer.  There’s also starting to be “discussions” about who gets to put what where and how much and the “can’t we just all get along, this is supposed to be fun” phrase is starting to emulate from the LBD.

We take a short regrouping break, assign various tasks to each Son and fortunately, move on.

And after a while, the eldest Son sticks a spoon with some kind of glob in front of my mouth.

“Uh, you first,” I respond.  And he does, and smiles.  And I see he isn’t gagging and falling to the ground writhing in pain.  This of course means I now have to try said glob.  So I do.  And darn if it’s not good.  And I mean really, really good.

With the success of the first batch, the Sons immediately inform us we must quadruple the recipe.  And so they start throwing out all these one-fourths and two-thirds and other odd amounts at me to do the math for the quadrupling.

And my head is starting to hurt; whether from the snow cream or the math, I’m not sure.  I’m seriously missing the metric system.

Now we have a freezer-full of snow ice cream, but the Sons are happy and no one is poisoned.  So we’ll chalk that up to a good memory.