SNOW COMES TO THE FARM

The mood is expectant as a farm family in northern Vermont awaits the first snowfall. The meadow’s gone brown, the pond is covered with ice, winter has come to the farm. Then one day, under a slate-gray sky, the air goes still: Snow is coming. The family’s two boys head for the owl woods to wait for the snow. They eat their sandwiches around a small fire, gazing upward. The snow begins to fall, a mere glitter, then with more purpose: “One by one, the flakes filled the cups of fallen leaves . . . the ground turned white.” Mice and squirrels scuttle for food, the evergreens begin to sag under their burden, the owl flies by, “silent as the smoke from our fire.” As dark begins to fall along with the snow, the boys douse their fire and head back home, the warm yellow light of its windows scything through the snowfall. Tripp’s (Thunderstorm, 1994) tone is just this side of solemn, a stately watchful waiting that will catch readers up. Kiesler’s (Taiko on a Windy Night, p. 583, etc.) muted oils communicate a sense of mystery along with the anticipation as the boys heads turned to the heavens, blinking in the wonder of it all. (Picture book. 5-8)