It occurred to me somewhere around midnight Saturday, when I woke up for the umpteenth time in less than a couple of hours. I tugged the double layer fleece blanket, wool blanket and sleeping bag down from my face and squinted at the top of my tent.
I sat up, and realized I wasn’t imagining things. There was snow. And not just a few flakes. A bunch. I slapped and shook the tent sides to knock the snow off, while Rufus (the Mallowmar dog) kindly stole the warm spot I left behind on my sleeping bag.