Snow Play

Because it wasn’t quite cold enough in Fresno we took a short drive to the Yosemite foothills. It’s certainly chillier there and I was very tempted to stay in the car, crank up the heater and wave to Dad and Patricia as they huddled in their coats smoking their cigarettes. This has to be the number one reason not to smoke.


Eventually, briefly, I was lured outside by the photo opportunities and by the desire to prove to you all that in the interests of quality blogging I - yes I - had actually braved the snow and ice.


In winter, this part of the world seems frozen in time as well as ice. The air is still and sharp, cold and dry. Even my misty breath clung to itself in a huddled cloud, as if trying to conserve the last traces of body heat.

This is the land of Narnian witches, glaciers and hypothermia. It's also the land of alarmingly indifferent parenting. Check out this guy with his small son on an almost-but-not-nearly-enough-for-my-liking frozen lake. Obviously Father of the Year there isn’t too attached to junior because he let the kid run and jump way out towards the edge of the ice and didn't say a word.


We watched from the shore, stunned. Once we admitted that none of us was a big enough hero to jump in and save the kid if the ice broke it became too scary and we decided to move on.


I considered going over there, flashing some obscure Australian ID and introducing myself as a Child Protection Services agent. Just in time I remembered that this is America. Here, a man who lets his little boy frolic on thin ice is a man with a concealed weapon.