It is the third week in February – a week when many families across the country have what’s called a winter holiday – a week off from school! While many wonder why a break is needed when kids just returned six weeks ago following the December holiday season, some of us look forward to celebrating winter weather with our children (and/or with our loved ones) – either by getting away from it – or immersing ourselves in it! It’s a time for adventure and different kinds of lessons: traversing ice-covered paths like this one in Southwest Harbor, Maine – or skating across a nearby pond. The ice brings alive animated fantasies like Frozen – helping children (and adults) realize that ice castles are actually possible! It’s a chance to witness small wonders like a beautiful brook flowing in the midst of a frozen mountain.
Living on the East Coast, I have always celebrated the cold weather and especially the snow. Growing up in southern California, the seasons varied from moderate temperatures to hot.
So I am someone who wanted to immerse my family in the winter – rather than escape to warmer destinations as some. Regardless of where you spend your February break – at the beach with Grandma or in the snow-covered mountains – the time together is invaluable.
Family vacations can play a big part in children’s memories. An older friend told me once that though his kids didn’t seem to even enjoy the road trips they used to regularly take, when they grew up, it was one of the things they liked most to do with their own kids.
So wherever you spend your vacations, it’s a terrific opportunity to document; – to revisit the photos and video year after year – or fold them into a family documentary for a special occasion.
Ask Me
by William Stafford
Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.
I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.
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