There is something about the pitch black Alberta winter mornings and the smell of fresh snow and ice that go with them mixed with the silence of this part of the country that tugs at my childhood memories. I can remember the frantic rush to get up, washed, dressed, fed and then hurrying to get my layers of poofy winter snow clothes on, my backpack... and then walking the long walk up the lane with a hot chocolate or coffee in my 10 year old hands to keep me warm. We three girls stood at the top of the lane that led to our acreage and talked...or fought... or stared bleary-eyed into the dark morning watching the steam off the tops of our mugs. Waiting for the sound of the little bus to come crunching through the snow around the bend. We would tuck our mugs into the little birdhouse shaped mailbox at the top of the lane, pick up our bags and shuffle through the snow and up the steps of the bus. My best friend Kyla was always there and the windows of the bus were covered in vine patterns of ice. We rode a small country bus of mostly french immersion students so were fairly tight knit. The bus driver would crank 630 CHED which used to be a music station. Whitney Houston, Hewie Lewis and the News, Corey Hart, Duran Duran, Wham...Top 40. Fast forward 24 years... same winter, same smells, same countryside...but my children won't look back out the rear window of any school bus watching their home, mother, baby brother and sister fade into the distance. These dark Alberta mornings make me thankful for the time I get to spend in the company of my children. Such a gift to be in the presence of the ones I love most.
