I was feeling a bit guilty about how much I was enjoying the weather.

The sun was shining, the air was calm, bees were buzzing around as I flew my little drone. The lake in front of me was frozen but there were patches of open water close to shore. The surrounding prairie was nothing but bare grass. It was the middle of January and the temperature was a balmy 13 C.

It had been a glorious day right from the start. Chinook clouds were spread out overhead as I headed east from High River but the morning sun was shining on the mountains. There was snow on the peaks and foothills but around where I had stopped near Herronton, the ground was mostly bare. Some snow still lay in the canola stubble and where it had drifted into the ditches but beyond that, nothing.

Though I’ve lived in Calgary for a long time now, my roots are entirely in the open country away from the city. I grew up in Gleichen where my dad ran a grain elevator and went to school both there and Cluny before we moved to Milk River where I finished high school.

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And winters were different in both those places.

Snow cover was never a given. Sure, we had plenty of snowy days, especially in Gleichen, and drifts piled up in the yard big enough to build snow forts in. But I remember at least as many brown Christmases as I do white. Playing hockey on an outdoor rink meant chasing the puck into muddy corners.

We had snow but it just didn’t last. It would fall, maybe blow around and pile up a bit and then a chinook — or just a stretch of sunny days — would come along and most of it would disappear. Cold and dry, yep, lots of days like that. But snow? Not so much.

So as I drove along, this nearly-snowless countryside was looking pretty familiar to........

© Calgary Herald