Way early one morning, as I stepped out across a foot of fresh powdered snowfall. It seemed to reflect every ounce of moonlight; while distant memories lapped through my mind, of white sandy shores back home. I flashed back to moonlit nights on Blue Mountain Beach. (my childhood stomping grounds)

Slowly, I sipped each minty breath of frozen air. As I listened closely, I could hear the wave of a distant wind that seemed to coincide with the crunching under my thick lined Sorrel boots. For just a fleeting moment, I was transformed back home, sunbathed brown and barefoot in my string bikini. Mmmmmm, I could feel the full bodied warmth of a summer's day. The deep white sand crunching under each finished step, as I made my way to the sun laden shore.

There I was, in the midst of a frozen moment, reflecting back in a shimmering glow of diving into fresh spring water. North Florida spring water stays a frigid 68* the whole year round. (and 68*would of felt warm at that particular moment) I lived in that pretend snow water, as much as Mama and my passing youth would allow. Stepping out of freezing water is pure pleasure, into a gentle breeze in the sun swept south. That barefoot carefree swim, I must of missed more than Mama's Southern-style, Eggs & Grits for breakfast. Completely unlike the south, I also found it virtually impossible to get a sandy bottom in the Rocky Mountains of Whitefish Montana. Yep, the only true grit I ever found, was mustering up the courage to stumble across those rocks, and fall into what (truly) felt like just melted snow. Upon climbing back out (as quickly as possible, I might add!) that old North Wind seemed to hit you dead on every time. I swear it blew winter and summer, no matter which direction it came from.

Growing up in Northwest Florida, was spent outdoors, more than indoors. As children we'd dawn our warmest jacket (something like a blue jean jacket), strap on our most likely worn out shoes (normally with a custom hole on the anxious side), no gloves, no hat, but ready to embrace the cold just the same. Sure it wasn't subzero degrees, though we did have many frozen moments. As teens we'd sit around a camp fire during winter months. We might find our way to the barren beaches on mild wintry days, braving our mellowed skin to ol' Mr. Trusty Winter Sun. (My Grandmother never understood why we chose to bake ourselves brown, in that gulf shore oven.) Why not? (was all we understood) That rising tide seemed to pull us from our classrooms and out of our home. The Southern Sun, come winter, no body can resist drinking in it's comforting warmth.

I thank my northern encounters, whom accepted me like an unscheduled landing. I was like unto a duck, that had flown in the wrong direction to winter. Though sometimes unsure if they wanted to share their roost with this slippery footed transplant. They always managed to keep me safe, and warm; both in their hearts, and in my memories. I'm unsure if I met a northerner that truly believed we had frozen pipes in Florida, or could figure out my southern accents origin. I do miss those northern friends I made, in those unforgiving mountains. I just hope one day, they find themselves flying south for the winter, and stop to roost in my neck of the woods. Here I'll take them on a southern adventure that's as alien to them, as Home-fries for breakfast still is too me. I want to show them what True Grit is really about in the south, both in their drawers and mixed with eggs.