i'd rather be baking

In the midst of the cold and snow that was last week, I found myself dreaming of the South. Yes, the South. If you know me at all, you’ll know that this is a little odd.

Yes, I spent a good chunk of my formative years in Arkansas, and yes, my husband spent his entire life there (until recently). I love my friends, family, and the Ozarks as much as the next girl, but really, the South isn’t my favorite. I like the ocean. And winter, generally. You can see how this would be a problem.

But here’s the newsflash: it’s warm in the South. It doesn’t snow there in May. People call you “honey” and “dear” and make ridiculously good food. And what do I think of when I think of all of these things? The fantastic Pioneer Woman.

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It’s been an unseasonably chilly, snowy week here. I honestly thought I’d never tire of snow, but today, as May begins, it’s getting old.

And honestly, the cold, dreary weather feels like a reminder of other kinds of dark and dreary, of lonely and tired and frustrated. You know, the kinds of dark and dreary that plague us all from time to time, but seem more prevalent in places and roles that still feel new and uncertain.

And still I find myself reminded that beneath the snow, there are golden daffodils and bright pink tulips, poking their persistent heads through winter’s grasping chokehold, choosing to embrace what little sunshine they can find. It would be easy for them to succumb to the unexpected cold snap, but they don’t.

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