We were treated to our first snow last night. Not merely a skift, either, but what folks I grew up among would call a tracking snow. Meaning enough snow down that a hunter could follow the tell-tale tracks of his intended prey, be it bunny or buck. A real boon when you're hunting to put food on the table.
I'm of the first camp. I like winter—all the icy, snowy, blowy, chilly, wind-howling, sleet-pinging-off-the-windowpanes whiteness. No, I'm not a masochist. Just a fellow with a boreal streak in his DNA. And right now, I couldn't be happier!