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his mother. Timothy could envision his son clearly in his mind. He was lanky, his hands and feet awkwardly large on his lean body. His hair had fallen down into his face as he knelt into the swampy mud to retrieve his target. When he looked up he tossed his hair back with a shake of his head revealing a brilliant smile, his face the picture of pride.
          Timothy had stopped in the center of the road, caught in his reminiscences. In his mind there were flashes of all kinds of memories from happy moments to those when he had felt exasperated. When his son returned, he vowed, he’d find a way to understand him a little better.
     
          Timothy’s thoughts began to yield to the present as he turned onto the path to the house. As he emerged from the trees a solid, wet snowball hit him square in the thigh with a loud splat.
          The woodpile beside the shed erupted with the giggles of children and Timothy caught a glimpse of his young son Philip peeking from behind the stacks of firewood.
          “Where did that snowball come from?” he bellowed loudly. He turned his back to the woodpile and held his hands up as if confused.
          A flurry of snowballs flew in his direction, most falling short of their target and he turned slowly and looked around dramatically.
          The woodpile erupted into giggles once again.
          He turned his back to the pile again, but this time a large ball hit him hard in the back of the head and he knew that not only children were lurking behind the stacks.
          He spotted a neat drift of snow behind a stand of pine and ran towards it. There he assembled a small arsenal of snowballs and then waited.
          As he expected, the children began to emerge from their place of cover cautiously, hiding behind one another. Louisa, being the eldest, soon became cover for the two younger boys and the three snuck out into the clearing next to the house.
          Roland circled around to the west and situated himself behind a tangle of wild berry bushes where he had piled snowballs earlier. He could see Tim clearly, packing snowballs, and he waited.
          As the children neared him, Timothy began tossing balls at them and they squealed and scattered in all directions, slipping on the snow and giggling in playful terror.
          Roland waited. Timothy threw snowballs in rapid fire and as soon as Roland could see that his stash was depleted he stood up and pelted his friend aggressively.
          The children burst into cheers, yelling loudly and egging him on.
          “Get him!” Louisa screeched, laughing loudly.
          “What the…” Timothy Elgerson roared.
          “Daddy, daddy!” Phillip yelled, hopping and flapping his arms. Ottland was so excited he ran in circles and then flopped down into the snow.
          Timothy began packing more balls and retaliating as quickly as he could, but Roland’s brusque attack was covering him in wet snow.
          The hollering in the yard alarmed Emma and she walked out onto the porch through the back door to find the grown men embattled in their snowball fight and she shook her head.
          “Look out, Cousin Emma!” Louisa screamed as a large snowball exploded against the wall beside her. She ducked back inside and hurried to the window to watch the skirmish.
          Timothy was completely covered in the shattered snowballs and he stood up, bellowed and pounded his chest and the children screamed and scattered. He ran full force through the woodland and lunged towards Roland who stepped aside quickly and Timothy plopped into the snow.
          “Argh!” Timothy thundered. “You have all turned on me!”
          Roland stood with his hands on his hips and bent forward from the waist trying to catch his breath.
          The children ran across the yard, jumping on Timothy and covering him with more snow, all laughing hard as he roared and began