by Mitch Lee
Back in the seventies early March snowstorms were pretty common when I was growing up on Lime-kiln Lake.
Those storms brought a good wet snowfall that made building snow art in the yard easy.
I remember one such Saturday when the sky pounded out ginormous flakes of wet stuff that stacked up quickly and made for the best snow sculpting.
My mittens and boots were on as soon as I finished my cereal and toast.
Outside I tipped back my head and let the large flakes pile up on my face; some melted and others clung to my eyebrows.
I liked how March was just cold enough for snow, but not so cold that it burned your exposed skin when it touched you.
My dog Mutt was doing figure eights in the snow, bounding up and down as she plowed through head down.
I trudged a path from the porch to the center of the lawn, and started to roll a few large snowballs to use as a base for the huge dragon I wanted to make.
The first few base rollers were half my size and before long I began to tire out.
I then began to make them more manageable sizes that could be picked up and slapped into place where horns, wings and a large curvy tail were needed.
It actually took no time at all to construct the very large dragon.
Mutt seemed impressed with my sculpture and did a few laps around it.
We sat together between its large rear feet with the huge toenails and leaned against the dragon’s belly.
The snow continued to fall at a great pace and began to fill in the details of my dragon.
I did a final clean sweep of the sculpture with my bare hands as my mittens were too wet and floppy to stay on.
I carefully cleaned the new fallen snow from the dragon’s head and nose and eyes so that I might get one better look at the ferocious work of art.
Mutt and I went inside when I felt the moisture of my wet clothes against my skin.
The snow abruptly stopped, leaving a giant monument in our yard that signified the gift that can accompany the spring snows.
Mitch Lee, Adirondack native & storyteller,
lives at Inlet. firstname.lastname@example.org