Looking at the snow early this morning made me reminisce about snow days when I was a little girl. We were “Air Force Brats” for many years and lived everywhere from Pope Air Force Base to Maine, South Dakota, Texas, and even Japan. But when our father honorably retired from the U.S. Air Force, we called Hamlet, North Carolina home.
I remember with the first fall of snow, my father would place a large bowl outside to catch the fresh snow. When the bowl was full, he brought it inside to begin making snow cream. If you don’t know what snow cream is, you have missed out on one of childhood’s guilty pleasures.
My father introduced my five sisters, brother and me to the joy of snow cream when we were very young. The first time I remember, Daddy brought the bowl of snow inside and called us to the kitchen. The seven of us gathered around the table, eager to see what Daddy was up to this time. Whatever it was, we were sure our mother, the guardian of the kitchen, would not approve. That alone made the moment even more exciting.
Daddy added milk and a generous amount of sugar to the snow and began stirring quickly. There was something special about my father’s hands. Whenever he was in the kitchen preparing something to eat, he would usually tell us a story about Grandma Page, the matriarch of the family. According to Daddy, Grandma Page was the prayer warrior and the best cook in the world. Although I never met her, I knew she loved our father deeply, and he respected her. Her words were law and gospel in the Page family. Grandma Page is the one who taught our father how to make snow cream.
Once Daddy was satisfied that his concoction had reached the right consistency, he gave each of us a tiny taste before placing the bowl in the freezer. The tiny taste of snow cream was delicious! If the taste teaser wasn’t done yet, we couldn’t wait to taste the final product. He told us he would let us know when it was ready.
After dinner, the magic moment arrived. Daddy announced that he believed the snow cream was ready. We could hardly contain ourselves. My mother gave Daddy her usual look of disapproval, but we were ecstatic. Mother was just as excited as we were, but her disapproving looks at our father was her way of playfully teasing with Daddy in front of the children.
I still don’t know how Daddy always managed to measure seven servings of everything so evenly for me and my siblings, but he did. If you’ve never tasted snow cream, you’ve missed out on a rite of passage. Snow cream, snow cream, good old snow cream.
Our father passed away 15 years ago, but memories like these last a lifetime.
Carricia Simpson is a Richmond County native now living at Fort Bragg.
