I live in New England and if you live in New England you accept the fact that it snows in the winter. Let me rephrase that~ I accept the fact that it snows in the winter. Many people, even those who have lived here all their lives, never accept the fact that we get snow here. They complain and whine every time they see a flake. They run to the grocery store and buy up all the milk, bread and eggs they can gather. I go to the store and buy a chicken.
Ever since my kids were little I roasted a whole chicken whenever we got a good snow storm. I served it with stuffing, mashed potatoes, corn, biscuits and gravy and I never strayed from the menu. If I had the kids would have been horrified.
At our old house we had a fireplace which the wasband would light at the sign of the first flakes. The kids would bundle up in their snowsuits and go outside with Daddy to shovel or build a snowman. When they got too cold they would come in, smell the chicken roasting in the oven, and give me great big smiles. Then they would go in the living room and take off their coats, pants, hats, mittens and anything else that was wet and lay it all out to dry in front of the warm fire.
Soon they would be back outside only to come back in, dry their clothes and go right back out. Dinner time would arrive and we would feast on our roast chicken dinner while listening to George Winston play the piano.
Even now I roast a chicken whenever it snows. The problem is it hasn’t snowed once this winter and that means we haven’t had a roast chicken dinner since last winter. I am praying for a snow storm so that Lilah can go play in the snow and build a snowman and eat a roast chicken dinner.