Snow Stories

Photo Credit: Rod Moser

Well, Christmas is over, but certainly not winter. I grew up in southwestern Pennsylvania, an area not a stranger to snow. As a child, snow was seen as a blessing. We would listen intently to the radio, while simultaneously getting our sleds ready, waiting for the list of school closures to be announced. As soon as our school was mentioned, we were out the door, heading for the nearest hill. Dozens of our friends would be quick to follow. There were snow forts to be built and snowballs to make in preparation for the inevitable siege. The girls were busy making snowmen as we laughed and secretly planned the transformation of those "men" into snow-women. Our older siblings would be assigned the arduous task of shoveling the driveway and walkways, so working parents could get to work.

We had a sled-riding hill at our school, but of course, we were not allowed to have sleds. During recess, we would use the next best thing - our shoes or our bottoms. One day our favorite snow hill was defiled with a fresh, steaming pile of dog crap. When the bell rang, I vividly remember piling lots of fresh white snow on this fetid mound, before returning to class. A mischievous sneer could be seen on my face as I watched children from the second recess heading for the snow hill. After school, I proudly admired the long, yellow streak that indicated the overall success of my IFD (improvised fecal device).

My favorite aunt lived directly across the street. As an independent six-year old, I had safely crossed this quiet road thousands of times in my young life, rarely looking out for cars. Today, there was one coming, but it was at a sufficient distance that I could make it - if I ran. It is not that easy to run on packed snow, and of course, it is not that easy for a car to stop on it either. A miscalculation, mostly on my part, ended up with a vehicle heading for me in a wild spin. I stood their like a deer frozen in the headlights, as the car struck me broadside, sending me sailing through the air. I landed in a snow-bank in my aunt's front lawn.

Quickly, I sprang to my feet and headed to my aunt's front door, oblivious to the shouts, "Are you okay?" coming from the terrified driver. I rang the doorbell and entered like nothing had happened. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang again. It was the sweaty driver of the car. The jig was up. The driver identified me as the one he just hit. Fortunately, I wasn't injured.

Four years later, I was a front-seat passenger in my mother's car, sitting beside my newly-purchased Christmas present - a blue parakeet with cage. The snow was really coming down, but most rural drivers are not intimidated by this white stuff. Suddenly, there was a man standing in the road waving his arms for us to stop - he wanted a ride into town. My mother did not have time to stop. The thud of his body still echoes in my mind, as well as the vision of him hitting my side of the windshield before flying over the car. Stunned, my mother continued to drive about a block or so. At my insistence, she stopped and turned around. The old man was still lying in a pool of blood in the middle of the road. He wasn't moving. I went to the nearest house to get some help - the home of a friend, nicknamed Dog. Dog called the police and ambulance, but by the time they arrived, the man had died. He was a recluse that lived in the rambling shack next to Dog. He had no family. This was not a particularly good Christmas for a ten year old.

As the years progressed, I had many more encounters with snow. There was the time that my friend, Rick, decided to dive head first into a fresh snow drift. He did not know the snow drift covered a snow wall. There was the time in high school that I threw a snowball at my typing teacher, only to strike her in the back of the head, knocking off her knitted cap. I only speak about this now, knowing that she passed away years ago (for unrelated reasons). I passed typing that year, but I could not look at her the same way.

While in college in West Virginia, I nearly killed my best friend when I slid a full sheet of plywood down a snowy hill for him to catch. The plywood caught some air, rose up, and struck him square in the head. It knocked him out instantly. We carried him to the campus emergency room where he his concussion was treated. After this incident, we remained friends, although he did seem to act a bit odd thereafter.

I had never seen snow as deep as I did in Michigan. Michiganders love snow. They love to hunt and track deer. They love snowmobiles and four-wheel drive trucks. They love those wool hats with the fur on the ears. I remember losing my car in the parking lot when a sudden snow storm made all cars look the same. I remember shoveling off the sidewalk so children could get to the house for Halloween, and a recall moving boxes in the snow at the end of April, when most of the country is picking spring flowers. As a non-Michigander, I did not share the enthusiasm. When I moved back to California, I left my trusty snow-shovel behind, vowing to never use it again. Last week, I needed it in California.

Since I live about an hour or so away from Lake Tahoe, the freeways are unbelievably crowded with folks heading for the snow. The skiers and snowboarders have been waiting for this season all year. There is plenty of snow on the slopes to accommodate them. As I see those cars passing by, filled with smiling faces and weighted down by ski equipment, I start to worry. Statistically, some of the people will not make it home. They may hit a patch of black ice, or like my barber, slide off the side of the road and end up at the bottom of a steep embankment. If an alert trucker had not witnessed this early morning accident, I would be cutting my own hair. He made it out just fine, but unfortunately, others do not survive the road chaos of the Holiday season. So far today, three people have been killed in the Sierras on the snowy roads. I think I will stay home.

Even now, when I see snow, these and hundreds of other stories flood my memory. Snow is beautiful to look it, but not so beautiful when the weight breaks tree limbs across your driveway or takes away a loved one. I love watching the grandchildren sled-riding down a hill or learning to ski, but from the warmth of the lodge. My own futile attempts at skiing were not unlike the "Agony of Defeat" film footage that aired for years on the Wide World of Sports.

I do not want to insult or miff the snow-lovers, but personally, I could live just fine without ever dealing with snow. I would be content just to watch the Weather Channel and call friends in relatives that are completely socked-in, claiming that I am outside, wearing shorts, and firing up the barbecue.

Please drive safely. You may arrive at your destination a few minutes later, but you will arrive. Think of other drivers and the families and friends that are at home. Be prepared. Have full tank of gas and some emergency equipment, including some sleeping bags and snacks. You don't want another Donner Party. Watch the weather and traffic reports. Have a fully-charged cell phone, but don't talk on it - stay focused on the road, and of course, your valuable passengers.

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