It doesn't snow much in central North Carolina. In truth, it doesn't snow that much in the North Carolina mountains, either--not much, at least, if you've spent any winters in the midwest. The last big snow down in Durham came in 2000, when some 23 inches dropped over two days. Biggest snow storm in history for the area, actually. We celebrated by hauling hooch and dumpster lids out to a steep street and joining the neighbors in some middle-of-the-night drinking and sledding.

Since then, well, we got a few dustings. Last winter, my son Max got to make some wimpy snowballs. We made a pretty sad snowman. And that was it. He's more familiar with snow from books like The Snowy Day than by actually frolicking in the stuff.

Then we moved to southern Maryland (everyone talks about northern Virginia, but "southern Maryland" doesn't have nearly the cachet; of course, far southern Maryland is actually called "eastern Maryland"), and we thought we'd see some winter. Three weeks passed with highs in the forties, fifties and even sixties. Damn.

Toward the end of last week, the weather forecasters mentioned the possibility of snow. So I bundled the boys into the car and we dropped by the neighborhood Target. I blew six whole bucks on two sleds (a saucer for Max and something with a safety strap for Sam, who's only one). Barbara hit a thrift store and spent a total of $21 on three snowsuits (don't ask), two pairs of boots and a big winter coat for Max. Then the snow came.

If you added up all the incremental forecasts (1-3 inches Saturday afternoon and 4-6 inches overnight), the weather folks were right. Their somewhat inexplicable final guess of "total accumulations 8-12 inches" was, well, wrong. We got five or six inches. Which is still more than enough for frolic.

Max was up at the crack of dawn, which hasn't been his habit of late. We were out of the house by 9:30 (feeding, dressing and roping an almost 4-year-old and a 1-year-old into snow gear takes a while) and were among the first on the local sledding hill.

Max trudged up, and, with little encouragement, slipped and slid down the hill. When snow isn't present, the sledding hill is actually a paved path down to a creekside park. As temperatures hovered around freezing all day, the creek hadn't even paused to think about freezing over. And so parents dotted the path, intervening every so often to make sure that an out-of-control sledder didn't hit the chilly drink.

When it comes to joining groups of kids, Max doesn't always leap in. But he kept jumping on his sled and crashing down the hill. As one of the youngest sledders (the average age was probably six or seven), Max acquitted himself reasonably well. But he's still learning, especially when it comes to smashing into other people. After one particularly explosive crash (Max sent an older boy flying head-over-Max-over-heels), Max sprawled out on the snow and cried out "Call the police car! There's been an accident!"

After exhausting the snow on the sledding hill a little after noon, we headed home. Max and I built a snowman before lunch, and then after naps, the whole family went outside and had something of a snowball fight.

Sam in his snowsuit resembled the younger brother in A Christmas Story, except that he can't walk and, in fact, couldn't move at all in his suit. So he sat or stood and stared. Which he seemed to enjoy immensely. After we went inside, he kept crawling to the front door as if to say "Hey, isn't there something out there we can do now?"

I have youthful memories of two-and-three-foot snows. One of the biggest hit on a Super Bowl Sunday...the one between the Cowboys and Broncos--1977, if I remember correctly. I spent an hour or two enacting my vision of the game. The Broncos won. Or, I should say, the Cowboys lost. Didn't work out that way in reality, of course. But I had a great time heaving a football into the air and then diving repeatedly into deep drifts attempting to catch the thing.

We won't get any three-foot snows here in the D.C. area, but it's nice to know that two or three times a year there ought to be enough snow to let Max and Sam enjoy the best of the winter. I always hated North Carolina winters--rainy and highs in the upper 40s isn't a lot of fun. Give me a bed of snow and temperatures in the 20s or 30s any day. There's something about the way the sun hits new snow that can't help but make you smile.

Jon Worley's feet are still cold and wet. And he couldn't be happier.