When I awake to a scene like this, my first impulse is to burrow back under the comforter and wait for spring. But I lured myself out of bed by thinking of the breakfast I'd planned.
Creamy leftover grits and sausage from Conecuh County, Alabama--my maternal grandfather's birthplace. My nostalgia for the Alabama I visited when I was young is tempered by my dislike for her politics but they sure make good sausage.
Though my grandparents moved to Florida early in their marriage, they never forgot the food of their youth and regularly received care packages from Alabama kin--spicy sausage, stone-ground meal and grits, and ribbon cane syrup. We're fortunate to have friends who grew their own sorghum last year and gave us a jar.
John fed the birds while I cooked breakfast--warm and hearty and just the thing for a cold, cold day.
It snowed till almost noon and we ended up with about nine inches--a trifling amount, my Canadian friends are saying, no doubt.
But it was the perfect background for this hearty breakfast--sausage and grits with a drizzle of sorghum. (As Clifford, our farming mentor used to say, 'Them are good 'lasses.'