How many words for snow

I had a feeling. That's what prompted me to do a little research first. And then I wished I hadn't.

Haven't you always been fascinated and curious about the whole "Eskimos have 25, 50, 100 words for snow" thing? Better, that Inuits can describe every aspect, every fine detail of snow by the use of just the precise word. I want a word that means fluffy light snow, early in the season, that you're delighted to see. Another to mean fine, hard, icy snow that stings your face. Another for the flakes falling in a blizzard, another for snow that will mean you will have to cancel your plans. I want the depth of experience of snow in the winter to come with vocabulary.

But it turns out that there's a whole lot of research out there to refute the 1911 writer's assertation about snow and language and Inuits. To say that we've been misled about the whole thing. And that the Inuit words currently recorded seem not unlike our own -- snow and slush and sleet.

It's doing it out there now, and has been all night -- whatever you want to call it. "Arlish: the snow that falls mid-way during a 3-day-weekend and makes you glad you got your groceries yesterday." How's that?
And I keep sewing away. Flannel comfy pants for Dean, from a print that I adore. Does it remind me of pjs my brothers would have had? That could be it. If I can find more of it, I get the sense Ken wouldn't mind a pair of his own.