"Summer had come and gone and autumn barely past when the first winter storm made its early approach. Hastily the garden gate was closed and the tractor brought in with plenty of time to mount the plow. Winter work boots were removed from storage and snowshoes placed by the door just before dinner. When evening came the wood stove was well stoked and the first giant flakes fell relentlessly, heavy and silent. The radiant light from the cupola cast a striking glow between the lights and darks of night and snow. You slept well that evening beneath a handmade patchwork quilt. And when morning arrived you stood in the kitchen gazing out the window with a mug of fresh brewed coffee in hand and the taste of maple syrup and pancakes on your tongue.  Just beyond the woodpile in the midst of the dissipating storm there stood the old red barn buried deep in an undulating portrait of first snowfall complete with a tire swing that did not sway and a weather vane that did not move in the stillness of winter’s advent." — paragraph is printed on back of card