I like being in the backcountry when it snows. Life slows down and I get get a chance to burrow into my home and cook hearty dinners. I have grown fond of the routine of outdoor chores and the impermanence of shoveling snow; it piling up even as it’s cleared. The kids come outside and help us shovel, and play in the snow so we hear them laughing while we work. I wander around and take countless pictures of monochromatic landscapes, imprints in the snow revealing each step I take. I hear the wind whisper in trees far away as it sweeps down the canyon, blowing white magic between land and sky, and carrying hints of my children’s laughter to me. The fire crackles and sizzles when we come inside and shed our winter clothes. We’re welcomed with the aroma of the wood stove mingling with bread baking in the oven. The silence of snow falling resonates as night falls, and we eat warm meals, play games, and fall asleep eager to wake up and do it all again. I like being home when it snows. Life slows down and I get to savor every second.