My great-niece Paige working on a batch of donuts to celebrate the first big snow.
Ranny sent me a picture via cameraphone to let me know that it was Donut Day in their area – meaning that the first big snow of the season was falling, and that they were making donuts to celebrate. They got a foot, in fact, which definitely makes it The Official First Snow of the Season. This was a tradition that Mom started some time in the misty (or snowy) past; every year she’d try to make them better than ever. I never got the hang of it although in high school I used to help cut the donuts and holes and
drop them in the fryer.
When the snow would start to fly, Mom’s phone would ring off the hook with calls from all over: “Are you making the donuts??” Over the years, she became rather strict in her assessment as to whether the snow was heavy enough to “stick” and was therefore officially The First (Big)((Heavy Enough To Stick))(((No Grass Showing Through))) Snow of the Season.
I am in a quandary about donuts. I donut know how to make ’em, I donut have a fryer, and I donut have a recipe. However, I feel a genetic imperative to do some sort of baking or make something memorable to mark the first snow, otherwise, I’ll be really bummed out this year with no call from Mom.
After I left college I was never again home for donut day, so I’d these triumphant calls from her or my sisters that it was Donut Day and that everybody (but me) was headed over.