Cindy called me to the window on Saturday morning. ìLook at the deer,î she said. A couple of does were making their way down the hill, taking their time, nibbling here and there.

Snow sifted lightly over them, over the deck and woods, adding another coat to the start of this very fine winter.

Very fine winter? If you question that sentence, head to Arizona. If not, then Saturday had it all.

Not just the deer in the woods, but the birds milling around the feeder. Even they seemed happy. And people did too.

Across the road, Duane Thomford was checking in on his old stomping grounds. He has bachelor pad on wheels out in the field next to some unharvested corn. Itís not a bachelor pad in reality, since Marilyn is very much alive and well. But itís not a place that Marilyn or most other women I know would fall in love with. Itís basically a shed on wheels, with a bunk bed and an old trashburner for furnishings. But there are windows on all four sides, great for watching coyotes and deer and turkeys and neighbors like me. Best of all itís in the middle of a piece of paradise that Duane knows better than anyone. Add those silent snowflakes that wouldnít quit falling, and it was a heavenly spot last Saturday. Duane didnít say that, but it was there, in his eyes, in the way he relaxed against his truck. Happiness. Winter. They go together.

In town, I stopped to see Vance Mitchell, and found him getting out the Christmas decorations, with the able assistance of Julie and Matt. Or more likely it was Vance doing the assisting. Thatís the way it is with Christmas decorations, at least at our house. The Mitchells already had their inflatable snowman set up outside, ready to rise up and greet the travelers on Highway 26.

Up the street, Dan Moriarty leaned against a snow shovel in his yard, talking to a neighbor across the road. ìGot your decorations up yet?î he asked me, but not really waiting for an answer, because he put his up a week ago, and there was a little pride in that old truck driverís voice when he told me that.

ìYou probably never took them down from last year,î I countered. That brought out Danís familiar guffaw. Either that or Mary Ellen put them up for him. But I didnít say that. Those old bachelors can get touchy sometimes.

I stopped at the Meinersí house to pick up some suet. Maureen greeted me at the door with her friendly smile. ìThe birds are so busy, must be a change in the weather coming,î she said, and I could tell that that wouldnít bother her at all. Bring on the winter, those tough old Langes believe.

Even at Momís, winter was settling in just fine, thank you. Cindy brought up the little Christmas tree that had waited patiently in the basement for 11 months. They put on a few of the old ornaments. That gave me a chance to admire the decorations left in the box. They wonít fetch any money on Antiques Road Show. But they are priceless in the eyes of the former kid that once put them up. Those silver and gold ones that look like miniature disco balls when you give them a spin. The balls with silhouettes cut out of deer and Santa and candles. Even the plastic ones are special. Old and faded, the tiny ribs on their surface worn smooth by many hands many years ago.

Cindy and I headed home late in the afternoon. We drove past the Helke farm, its muted red barns the only color in the black and white landscape. The snow kept falling, clinging to the dark tree branches.

It was a magical time at a magical season, the one that always hits in early December, before Christmas. Saturday was the day.

Anyone who doesnít think winter is beautiful hasnít driven the backroads of Houston County in the fading light of a snowy December afternoon, with Christmas just around the corner. You can ask Duane and Vance and Dan and Maureen and Mom and Cindy if you donít believe me.

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Caledonia Argus
314 West Lincoln St.
P.O. Box 227
Caledonia, MN 55921-0227
507/724-3475

E-Mail: editor.argus@ecm-inc.com