We went back to our block of land again this weekend, chasing snow. Turned out we left the snow behind us but we still enjoyed cooking damper on sticks over a campfire. Snow was minimal but the cold was there and we crouched down, hugging the fire, eyes watering from the smoke, and all our warm clothes soaking up that acrid campfire whiff.
Even although I feel the cold quite a lot and rug up like I live in Antarctica, I much prefer winter to summer. I love hot drinks and the crackle of a fire and the exhilaration of cold air followed by the sweet relief of a warm house. And, living in a country where snow is an exceptional event in most areas, I love snow too. The year I lived in China, a French friend and I climbed onto the flat roof of our building and built a snowman there. I was wearing woolen gloves knitted by my mother and my hands complained bitterly. But it was a fun March night that I will always remember.
