According to those whose business it is to know such things, the last time it snowed in these parts in the first week of May was in 1908. Being barely able to remember it myself, I had to rely upon the written record. According to that record, that particular storm brought eight inches of the untimely white stuff.
Although accumulation is a bit nebulous at this time of year around here, I did see no less than four inches of buildup at the base of the north window of my office on Thursday morning. On Friday, as I was driving across US 36 in central Missouri, I saw at least five inches completely covering fields and banks in one section. For miles, I could see clumps of grass and snow mingled together, greens and whites caught in strange arrangement.
This was not the quick flurry, a passing snatch of tiny bits of powder and pellets that I’d expected; this was a bona fide snow storm that plastered the north sides of trees and posts, sketching skeletons in the woods and stretching long rows in the bare fields. It snowed so hard and heavy that I could see clumps of white floating in the Grand River, just east of Chillicothe.
It was quite a thing, this snowstorm in May that came in the Year Two Thousand and Thirteen. Yet will bloom the flowers of summer and we will eat fresh peaches in their season. Even in the late snow, the promises of heaven will still show themselves sure.