[…]It started when I was a kid traveling north to the land of Bluegrass. During the winter, we occasionally would have snow or wintery weather when going there. The northern part of our state, Tennessee, and Kentucky all had mountainous/hilly areas. (Note that these are the Appalachian foot hills). It would get cold enough to snow and freeze.
The frozen precipitation made it hard to drive but interesting to look at. We occasionally would see it snow or even see one of those clouds spit out sleet. But my favorite thing had to be icicles hanging off of cliff sides or rock ledges. I dreamed off grabbing them and breaking them off, then throwing them at a family member. My father would often say that only an idiot would stay outside in the cold and play.
Years later, I would find myself driving south to my old town to pick up a table. It was after it snowed three to six inches in a major town south of us. I drove past vehicles that slid off the road. No one else was on the road. I was somewhat relieved to pass by some teenagers out throwing snow balls and sledding on the interstate highway, which was illegal. I heard my father, in my head, echo his old sentiments.[…]
Take A Time Out For Calculated Idiocy — Mogadishu Matt
Vermont Folk Troth 
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