Stuck in the Storm

 

Mom and Dad talk about the winter of 1948-1949 in Bloomfield, Nebraska, when the snow fell...and fell, and fell, so that it was piled way above their heads, ten or twenty feet or even higher along the ever-narrowing county roads.  If people wanted to go somewhere in town, they walked.  If farmers were fortunate enough to still possess a draft horse or two, they pulled out their old sleighs and harnesses, because travel by car was nearly impossible for a good part of that winter.  Farm kids, like my dad, stayed in town for weeks without seeing their families, so they could attend high school on the days school was open.  Snow shoveling could have been elevated to a new Olympic sport.  Sledding down Standpipe Hill became the most popular pastime.

Fifteen or twenty years later, when my family lived in Fairbury, we survived more than one three day blizzard, when the snow piled up to two feet or more, on the level, with much deeper drifts in many places.  In times like these, the whole family would pitch in to shovel the wide sidewalk surrounding the Hotel Mary-Etta.  Since many employees were unable to get in to work, we all helped out wherever we were needed, cooking and serving impromptu meals in the cafe for the hotel residents and guests, making beds, mopping up the melted snow in the lobby, or minding the front desk.  I remember one snowy afternoon when the whole town was shut down.  Dan and I were so bored that we trudged up the middle of the street, which was less drifted than the sidewalks, to the bowling alley three blocks away, where we spent the rest of the day bowling in that nearly deserted (but open!) business.  We were glad the electricity stayed on that time.

Our most memorable storm, by far, took us all by surprise.  Our family had driven from Fairbury to Norfolk for a funeral, which must have been on a Friday.  We spent the rest of the weekend with our grandparents and other relatives in Norfolk.  Late Sunday afternoon, we stopped at Uncle Lee and Aunt Rose's house, where we stayed for supper and enjoyed spending some time with our cousins.  It was dark when we left for the three hour drive back to Fairbury.  The snow started by the time we reached Madison, just a few miles down the road.  Dad kept driving.  We were probably halfway between Norfolk and Columbus, which was forty-five miles from Norfolk, when we realized that we were attempting to travel in a blizzard.  Dad couldn't see the road, so he just tried to stay between the fence posts on either side of the road, while Mom sat next to him and prayed.  Dad still says that it was a miracle that we made it to Columbus at all that night.  It took us three hours. 

After we finally reached Columbus, Dad found rooms for us in an old, run-down hotel.  I remember washing out socks and underwear in the bathroom sink, because we had brought along just enough clothes for the weekend.  The next morning, Dad found us some sweet rolls for breakfast.  The storm was still raging outside, and Mom and Dad were lamenting that they hadn't known it was coming; it would have been much more pleasant for us to have just waited out the storm with relatives in Norfolk.

Dad had called the Mary-Etta, and was anxious to get back home as soon as possible, because the blizzard was raging in Fairbury, too; he would have to rely on a few loyal employees and bored hotel residents to manage the hotel in his absence.

We found a snowplow that was heading south, and followed it out of town, at a snail's pace.  Dad stopped in David City briefly, to buy a loaf of bread and a package of bologna for sandwiches, which we ate in the car, of course.  I imagine that money was tight; my parents did not possess any credit cards, and probably had not brought along much extra money for the weekend trip.  I remember sitting in the car at an intersection of two highways, after the first snowplow had turned around, just waiting for another snowplow to come along.  I got out of the car more than once to sweep the snow from the headlights and taillights so other cars would be able to see us.  A young man driving a sports car pulled up next to us to ask if we knew whether any roads were open.  The road ahead was obviously drifted shut, but he backed his car up and made a run for it, plowing into the first drift at full speed.  That's where he stayed.  An hour or two later, we followed a snowplow right around his stranded car.

That snowplow led us to Lincoln.  It wasn't exactly where we wanted to go, but it took us a little closer to home.  That night, and the next, we all slept on the floor of our friend, Pam's, apartment.  We hung around her apartment, reading, playing cards, and watching TV, until Wednesday afternoon, when the sun started to peek out of the clouds, and the plows were out clearing all of the highways.  We finally got back to Fairbury late that afternoon, just in time to shovel the snow that was piled up around the hotel, and just in time to go back to school on Thursday.  The worst part of the ordeal, for us kids, was that three snow days had been wasted just trying to get home! 

Since then, Dad always checks the weather report before setting out on any trip during the winter.  That's why he and Mom left late this afternoon, a little earlier than planned, after coming to Gering this weekend to meet their new great-grandson, Tobin.  The weather channel is predicting snow tonight and tomorrow morning, with wind gusts of more than fifty miles an hour, for Ogallala.  It will be much better for them to drive to my Uncle Gary's house in North Platte today, so they can stay ahead of the storm.

It's important, but not always possible, to stay ahead of a storm.  Sometimes, we just can't escape the storms life brings.  In those times, we pray, as Mom did when Dad was driving through the blizzard, and we hold on tight to God, trusting Him to get us through.