I went to a scrapbook retreat in the mountains this weekend.

We were told that it "could" snow, that our state was receiving unusual amounts of moisture that weekend. It was very welcome, as we've been in a drought that stretched over 140 days.

I've been to this part of the state before, and any "snow" I've seen (especially in March) has been a light dusting, easily brushed off, soon melted, and no threat to driving.

Not this time. It was SNOWING. We stopped Friday night to grab a birthday dinner for my friend, and by the time we got back to the car, it was covered in snow.

It continued through the weekend. We briefly considered leaving our camp to grab a coffee in town, but after breaking a trail to the van through snow up to our knees, decided that trying to navigate snowy mountain snows in my friend's new van was not the best idea. We trudged back to our warm scrapping room, grateful for the waiting warm PJs and roaring fire.

It was a close call getting out of the camp on Sunday. Ice and snow prevented our getting our rolling carts through; everything had to be carried out to the cars. Men at the camp pitched in to help dig out cars (and the road) and give needed pushes to get cars up the steep and slippery drive out of the camp.

Every time I looked out the window this weekend, or walked to the dining hall for meals, I found myself grinning from ear to ear in sheer wonder at drifts of snow the size of which I hadn't seen since the blizzards of my Ohio childhood. It wasn't just the stunning beauty of long icicles and thick frosted pine trees, but that I was witnessing it in ARIZONA, just weeks before the beginning of Spring. March truly had come in like a lion.

Oh, and I got 27 pages done in my youngest's baby book, fellowship with some amazing ladies (including my best friend), and an incredibly romantic note from my knight reassuring me how valuable my "little hobby" was to our entire family, and the generations to come. And we got down from the mountain safely.

It was a blizzard of blessings.