Snow Day

I have to admit that I woke up early Thursday morning hoping the predictions of strong winds and inches of snow were true. However, I was disappointed. School was still on. It wasn’t even two hours late.

Even though I’m not a big fan of winter, I still can’t resist pulling for a snow day. There is just something special about the possibility of getting snowed in. One gets a sense of self-reliance. The outside world grinds to a halt. That in itself is something to behold. You are in charge of digging yourself out, well, shoveling yourself out. You are on your own for supplies, usually a trip to the store is out of the question. You are cut off from the outside world in most ways.

I’m reminded of a poem we used to read in American Literature, “Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyll” by John Greenleaf Whittier which celebrates getting snowed in.

The charm for me is that our routines are thrown off. I was looking forward to all of us cuddled up in the house. In my head, I pictured us all pajama clad, bundled up in blankets sipping hot chocolate around an old pot bellied stove waiting for the snow to break. Never mind that we would never bundle up in blankets and sip hot chocolate. I mean we don’t even have a pot bellied stove. We might have some hot chocolate mix though. I guess we could all gather around the thermostat and sip hot chocolate and wait for the propane furnace to kick in gear. In reality, Kristie and I would cuddle on the couch and read or watch TV. Casey would likely sleep until two. KoKo would draw or do homework or cuddle with us on the couch. So it’s not quite as romantic and picturesque as I envisioned it, but that’s all part of the appeal too.

Now that I think of it, a snowstorm is a joyous occasion for most I talk to. When I think about it, it’s true too. When a thunderstorm hits, God knows from my youth, this means retreating to the basement and staying glued to the TV or radio for tornado warnings. It means hoping a tree won’t land on your house. It means placing buckets in various spots to catch the rain.

There is nothing that ominous about a snowstorm. As long as you’re not traveling that is. Then it is most certainly a matter of life and death. (After getting trapped in a violent hale storm two summers ago, I think I’d take driving home 5 miles an hour over being trapped in a vehicle pounded by a thousand chunks of golf ball sized hail). In fact, I recall several occasions as a child, getting out of school early because of the poor driving conditions. As soon as the bus would drop us off, we’d grab our sleds and head to the hill just across the street from our house. The blizzards didn’t affect the town kids. Just those in the country who couldn’t see for all the blowing snow. In town trees and houses blocked the snow. What a splendid gift a snow day was.

Even when we moved to the farm when I was a teenager things weren’t so bad once the bus made it home at 20 miles an hour. Dad would usually be gone in the truck, so I’d bundle up and head out to feed our herd of sheep. Everything was within easy walking distance, so the whipping winds didn’t make things that bad.

Then it was inside for a hot meal from Mom and off to my room while Mom listened to the radio and filled me on the reports about school the next day.

Thursday, though, didn’t pan out. Kristie was the only one to get a snow day. She did not want to face hazardous driving conditions all the way to GF.

The kids and I, though, bundled up and headed off to school. At least I had a little fun at school. I would spot a student and say gleefully, “Hey, we’re getting out at 10:30!”

“Really?” They’d ask, eager for an early out.

“No,” I’d say. Then I would grin. Misery loves company, right?