About twenty years ago, my Grandpa Ray retired from Sacramento, California and moved to a tiny town in Arkansas, out in the middle of nowhere, a place far from everywhere, somewhere inside the Ozarks. My aunt and cousins soon followed, and just last year my parents retired to the same piece of land. As a teenager, I loved the freedom of the backwoods. I would lose myself for hours exploring on the back of a 4-wheeler. Even then, I marveled at the beauty of this magical location.
This past Christmas, I traveled there with my own two daughters to enjoy the holidays with my family. Upon arriving, my dad asked me what I had asked Santa for, and I jokingly replied that I wished for a white Christmas. It was a pretty far-fetched request, since it rarely snowed in those parts, and never that early in the season. Within 24-hours, I learned that I should always be careful what you ask for, because someone might really be listening.
Christmas Day arrived, and with it came flurries of tiny snowflakes. As the day progressed, so did the size of the flakes and the density of the flurries, so that by sunset we were looking at a true-blue snowstorm, complete with white-out conditions. I had got my White Christmas!
The next morning, we awoke to one of the most beautiful sites I can honestly say, I had ever seen. At least ten inches of powdery fluff lined the ground- I stepped nearly knee deep in it. In all the years I had been visiting, I had never been so in-awe of the landscape. Knowing the full magnitude of it's brilliance couldn't be appreciated indoors, I grabbed my camera and headed out on the Mule.
I almost felt guilty driving through the virginal snow; it was thick on the roads, still pure and untouched by cars or people. The silence was astounding, a quiet I've never before experienced. It was late morning when I set out, and even at that hour most people were still cooped up, avoiding the cold weather. The faraway sound of cows mooing and the occasional crack of a heavy tree branch were the only sounds to be heard, and those seemed to echo in the vast emptiness.
Admittedly, I am not a cold-weather girl. I tend to hibernate in the winter, even in the relatively mild climate I enjoy in North Texas. I hadn't exactly come to Arkansas prepared for the snow-storm of the century, and I was freezing. The tip of my nose went pink and my fingers were numb. My toes ached and my ears burned. However just like anything in life, I was greatly rewarded for my little bit of sacrifice.
My very own White Christmas was one of the greatest gifts I've ever received. It was literally once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to capture some of the most beautiful images I've ever taken, and I'm glad I forced myself out into the cold.
This past Christmas, I traveled there with my own two daughters to enjoy the holidays with my family. Upon arriving, my dad asked me what I had asked Santa for, and I jokingly replied that I wished for a white Christmas. It was a pretty far-fetched request, since it rarely snowed in those parts, and never that early in the season. Within 24-hours, I learned that I should always be careful what you ask for, because someone might really be listening.
Admittedly, I am not a cold-weather girl. I tend to hibernate in the winter, even in the relatively mild climate I enjoy in North Texas. I hadn't exactly come to Arkansas prepared for the snow-storm of the century, and I was freezing. The tip of my nose went pink and my fingers were numb. My toes ached and my ears burned. However just like anything in life, I was greatly rewarded for my little bit of sacrifice. 
Jen, you know you are a magical person, you bring such a gift of loving life where you go.
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