January 1986

There once was a time when school was canceled for two weeks. In the forecasts which led up to a blizzard, our local meteorologist, Charles Middleton, who often forecasted the weather through long, under-breath belches, told us all not to worry; the storm would be only a small shower, a flurry at best.

The day before the storm came, I sat in my mom's car outside of my piano teacher's house while we waited for my sister to finish her lesson. The sky was a steel sheet of gray, and not a single sun beam shone through. My classmates and I spoke of the snow, and even though we were told there would only be flurries, we still held out hope for a cataclysmic storm that would shut down schools and ring in the days of play and sleep. Looking at that sky, I knew there was hope for more than a flurry.

That night I chose not to do my homework. I placed my bets on school closing. It was a risky bet to make, for the odds were more in favor for us going to school than not going. Still, I took my chances.

The next next morning my new radio alarm clock, given to me just that previous Christmas, blared those poppy 80s tunes, and in the midst, the DJ crooned, "Bedford County Schools are closed!" Could it be?

Upon hearing this I jumped out of bed and peered outside of my bedroom window. Unfortunately, when one lives out in the country, there are no street lights to shed any light on whether or not it snowed the night before. I touched the glass, and sure enough, it was very cold. Just cold enough, I thought, to bring snow.

I ran downstairs. No one was awake yet. I tip-toed over the cold slate floor in the foyer and went to the front door to turn on the outside floodlights to witness the glorious event that unfolded before my eyes. Snow. Everywhere. The sidewalk leading up to the house was completely covered, and even better, the grass, which was the true measure of the snow's depth, had been put to sleep by the vast blanket of snow. I quickly turned out the light, ran back upstairs and quietly jumped back into my still-warm bed and hoped there would be even more of the delicious white goodness the next time I awoke.

I awoke again around eight. The snow came down in downy white puffs, and I could barely see the old gray tobacco barn which stood two hundred feet from my room. I turned on the radio and heard the DJ excitedly list off the many school districts that had to close that day. I was elated, not only because of the snow, but also because of the bet I placed, and won. Surely no teacher would remember that homework, right?

My dad was not so pleased. As the owner and manager of a small furniture refinishing company, he had to get to work. The only problem was that back then, no one plowed the roads out in rural Virginia. (Incidentally, this is why I do not want to live out in the country ever again.) Still, he thought, he had to be at work. He stood at the back porch to our house and grimaced at the thermometer while saying, "This isn't a blizzard! It's thirty-three degrees!" I contended that the temperature didn't matter, it was still a blizzard. I didn't understand why he wasn't excited too!

After dressing in layer upon layer, my dad climbed aboard our John Deer tractor, turned on the ignitions and gurgled and roared his way down the country road. He had to go at least ten miles to get to work. At a speed of about seven miles an hour, it would take him over an hour to get each way to work. As an uprooted New Yorker, I doubt he ever thought it would take him an hour to get to work ever again. But then, he never really knew how life in the country could really be.

The snow lasted for days and days. Each time it snowed, I did a snow dance in the living room. After a while my parents thought it was working and they asked me to stop dancing.

My mom didn't have an easy time with the snow either. While my dad ran the business, she ran the horse stable. At that time we had close to fifteen horses. The barn was three-quarters of a mile down the road, which isn't far, but it may as well have been twenty miles away when we had no four-wheel drive vehicles and a foot and a half of snow, with drifts up to three feet, in between you and the barn.

One day, I had actually become bored of the snow, and my mom decided to take me with her up to the barn. Along with us we took our Golden Retriever, Buster. My mom stood at a height of five feet three inches, and I was a little over four feet tall and only weighed about eighty pounds, give or take. We needed help getting through the snow, and Buster was our only choice. As we trudged our way up to the barn, there were times when the snow was so deep that I was in it up to my chest. I grabbed hold of Buster's collar to help me get through the drifts. Even though he was smaller than me, he was lighter, so his paws didn't go all the way down to the ground. He made for an excellent anchor. After a good, long time, we made it up to the barn. I helped water the horses while my mom fed them their mix of oats and barley. After spending only half an hour in the barn, we turned around and did it all over again. To this day, I have never been as cold and wet as I was on that day.

During those two weeks I discovered the warm joy that is oatmeal. There is nothing else that will completely fill your stomach and warm a cold body more than oatmeal. I also discovered that banana oatmeal is NOT very good.

I discovered how to make beaded bracelets and dresses out of scrap fabric. I also played with my Barbies and cleaned my room, which was a rarity in those days. I saw my dad plow the driveway many times, and much to his chagrin, a new snow shower came, as if to say, "Enough! Take a break! Relax!"

Eventually the snow stopped and life continued as usual. We lost our Spring Break to the snow, which was okay for me because I was sick for that whole week anyway, since I had bronchitis; I had my vacation anyway.

There are simple dreams and wishes of children everywhere. Among the wishes: a huge birthday cake for your birthday, a dollar bill for losing a tooth, and no matter where a child lives, the hope that snow will bring rest and play to those most deserving. As an adult living in a coastal area, I easily think we will not have snow. But then again, I also know that some forecasters get it wrong.