The weather forecast made me drive down to Hobart on Saturday; the snow flurry near sea level at my friends' home (though the flakes didn't settle) the next morning convinced me I'd made the right decision. Our monthly Missa cantata was held this month on the second Sunday, Fr Quinn having been away last Sunday; and I'd estimate about fifty souls braved the chill weather (some we know didn't come because of it) for to attend the Holy Sacrifice (as usual now, I acted as M.C.).
Congratulations to Monica, one of the many children who attend this Mass with their respective families – for this was her First Communion day. Father preached on how one's First Communion ought be the first in a great sequence, whereby we grow in holiness, blessed by so many graces, till we are formed into saints fit for heaven.
Driving back in the afternoon, I saw thick snowdrifts on Mount Wellington high above Hobart, which came closer and closer as I drove north – at Constitution Hill (highest point on the highway), the snow lay upon the paddocks only a few tens of metres from the road on the left-hand side. Flurries of snow were blowing down, though not settling, on and off from perhaps Kempton until just before Antill Ponds: while I know the Midlands Highway is usually closed a few times each winter with snowfalls, this is as close as I've ever come to witnessing it.
Stopping at Campbell Town for a well-earned coffee and break in the late afternoon, I walked around to the little church there to pay a visit, and found the locals readying for Mass. Myself, I continued back to my car, and headed home, which I reached just before six.