Just seeing the photos makes you feel like you’ve stepped into an old-fashioned Santa Clause fairytale. Idaho in winter is feet of snow piled outside a handmade log cabin, sturdy and cozy against the arctic temperatures, a fire blazing inside and stockings hung with care.
The Biggar girls grew up visiting Granny O there, and we ogled the magical photos, wide eyed, from our bougainvillea-laced tropical patio in Jakarta, sweat beading on foreheads and backs.
So when snows piled up in Cabin John this January, I chucked the kids outside with sleds and a wave, vaguely promising tomato soup and popcorn upon return. It was only when they stomped feet in the foyer an hour later that I absorbed the Marley situation.
While my kids peeled off snow pants and duck boots, dropped wet beanies on the hardwood floor, and draped their Columbia coats on the coat tree, slender Marley stood shivering in her gray corduroys and kept her black puffy zipped to the neck.
“You okay, Moose? You look like you could use a full body burrito wrap,” I said.
“Yeah, I guess I’m just still adjusting to this east coast weather,” she replied. She took off her puffy to stand by the fire and I saw she was wearing…nothing but a crop top.
And it was then that I realized that Marley didn’t know about the art of wintering. I got her thermal long underwear, a silk long-sleeved undershirt, pure wool socks (no synthetics) with purple snowflakes, and waterproof gloves. I explained about layering, putting waterproof pants over the tops of boot rims, and keeping ears and heads warm.
“I guess I never knew that scarves were so functional. I just thought they were aesthetic,” she mused. The next day there had snowball fights and Bali leaped like an Idaho reindeer around them. They stayed outside for ages. Education is a many-dimensional, magical process.
It also bears repetition. The next day, Marley and Finn shoveled the walkway at Hampden Lane. Marlena was gloveless.
@theterrace 