As we waited to deplane, I looked out the window to see frost had laced the ground with delicate patterns and froze every blade of grass in place. The air flight attendant’s voice came on again over the intercom with instructions and to let us know the current temperature in Omaha. Sighs and groans erupted over the 32-degree temperatures before she continued to inform us that there were still seats available if anyone wanted to remain in their seats and fly back to Punta Gorda. My husband smirked before stating, “Bloom where you’re planted, Heather. Isn’t that what you always tell me?”