When I was a little girl, Momma would make snow cream. Ice cream was too expensive, and we didn't get much of it. So when it snowed, we would beg her to make us some snow cream.

Momma would bundle us up and send us out the backdoor with a washpan to fill it full of the snow.

She told us to only gather it from drifts or in the deep places. She said something about "fall-out" but we didn't understand or even care, all we wanted was that tasty white snow cream.

We'd be so wet and cold by the time we brought that washpan back in the kitchen door that Momma would tell us to get out of those freezing clothes as she captured the washpan. She would always promise to wait on us, before she started fixin' it.

After we were dressed in warmer clothes or have our snuggy flannel jammies on, we'd run back into the kitchen and watch Momma put the milk, sugar, and vanilla into the snow filled washpan.

And she would stir and stir and stir. My little brother, Bobby, and I would look at each other smiling and then back at the pan just as Momma was finishing stirring it into what would look like real honest to goodness ice cream. Our little mouths would sure be watering, to say the least.

As she spooned the ice cold mixture into our awaiting bowls, we would be grinning from ear to ear. I still smile when I remember that scene from my childhood days.

It was very special to me.
by Lynda Combs Gipson, 2003