Last weekened we were in northern Indiana with my in-laws. We woke up Saturday morning . . .

. . . and it had snowed.

My husband, who has been waaaay too enthusiastic about the arrival of the seriously cold weather, was pleased.

After a breakfast of sausage and eggs (courtesy of my father-in-law) and a stint on the couch with a hot cup of instant vanilla coffee, the photographic opportunities were too overwhelming to ignore. We grabbed our coats and headed outdoors.

We tromped around the yard and looked at the sights, both large . . .

. . . and small.

We shook some rapidly melting snow off the pine trees.

The line of twisting grape vines was particularly beautiful.

The sun came out, and the melting snow started falling from the trees like rain.

Within the next couple hours, the snow was completely gone. The only evidence it had been there was the slight sogginess of the yard.

The footprints we left had soon disappeared.

I love the crunchy sound our shoes made while walking across frosty pine needles.

And I loved returning t0 the cozy house afterward and reheating my mug of coffee.

Winter certainly holds joys to counteract its hardships–for every instance of cold hands, there’s the warm relief of a hot mug of cider. For each frozen foot, there’s a toasty evening snuggle under an afghan. For every cough and sneeze, there’s the untold comforts of a hearty stew.

I’m thoroughly enjoying this final week of 60 degree weather before Chicago takes the temperature plunge on Saturday. But after this enchanting Indiana snowfall, I may finally be ready . . . ready for winter!

I think.

But please don’t hold me to it.