Growing up in South Dakota I experienced some rather harsh winters
– below zero temperatures, four feet of snow in our backyard, and being stuck
at home because our roads were secondary or even third in order of importance for the county
snow plows. Without a doubt however, the most conflicting winter of
my childhood would have to be that of 1997. The pure, white snow
came in the form of a blizzard and swirled rudely by our windowsill, taunting
us. Here and there it swirled, free as could be. Temperatures hit below zero and when the wind
chill factored in, temps would fall as low as negative forty. The wind didn’t just affect the
thermometer. It also brought about
extraordinary, compacted drifts of snow that we all knew would make our chore
of shoveling nearly impossible.
The blizzard
wouldn’t allow us to go outside either because of the cold, harsh
conditions so the only place that we could watch all of the happenings from was
inside our house. I would often lean over the top of my mom’s
La-z-boy recliner to look out the window behind. The snow was so
thick that at times you couldn’t see more than four feet in front of the
windowsill. At other times, it calmed
enough to see the barren maple and cottonwood trees thickly covered in
snowflakes that weighed the branches down so much that many of them were
beginning to break off the tree. It
lasted for what seemed like days upon days to me as a six year old child ready
for adventure and scoping out the new landscape that the snow was creating. In
reality, the blizzard didn’t last for more than two days.
The heat blasted
out of our electric baseboards constantly.
As I leaned over my mom’s recliner, the heat would hit me in intense sporadic
waves, but it only made it seem more so that the severe conditions outside
couldn’t actually be that bad. My sister, who was
three years older, and I tried to use our rationale on our mom, but she
wouldn’t accept that excuse by any means; she knew better. By the time we were allowed to go outside, my
sister and I were ready for a grand escapade. Sure, we had schoolwork,
but with being homeschooled the “teachers” could easily change our
schedule. Plus…the snow wasn’t going to
last forever!
“Freedom!” my
sister Tirzah and I shouted in unison as we began to pull on all of our snow
gear. First, on came the wool socks that I still hate to this day
because, while they were indeed warm as my mother claimed, they were scratchy
and they itched. Next were the coverall
snow-pants. My sisters were purple and mine were hot pink. Then it
was our ski masks, bulky winter coats, hats, snow boots, and
lastly…mittens! The mittens always had to come last. I’d learned
this over time. One time I tried to go
out of “putting on” order and realized it was just not possible to zip yourself
into a winter coat with them on. I had
called my mom over and had her do it for me.
Once I was encased in all of my winter apparel, I stood by the door tapping
my boot on the linoleum in a steady rhythm.
“Come on
Tirzah! Hurry up!” I spoke as the impatient younger sister.
“Just hold your horses you
nut! I’m going as fast as I can!” came the voice of the ever reasonable
older sibling.
If you went any slower…
“Were you saying something Han?”
“Nope. Not a thing.”
I made it pointedly obvious that I wanted to though as I raised my
eyebrows, pursed my lips together and flashed my eyes quickly between her and
the door. She didn’t take the hint.
Our house was
right next to an old Lutheran church no longer used for services except once a
year during the summer months. The snow had drifted into the alley behind
our house and the church. When I say drifted, I don’t mean we got a
couple of inches of snow and it had rippled gently in the wind before
settling. I mean that there was 12 foot drift of snow that some “skiers,”
such as me, might have been happy to go on. The drift had formed because
of a fence, trees, and a perfect direction of blown snow. The snow crunched loudly, stiff as could be,
and compacted on all surfaces as we had earlier predicted might happen. Instead of skiing down the slope my sister
and I created our own mode of transportation down the hill. We took a basic plastic sled, looped a rope
through two holes that my father drilled in the front of each sled, and would
hold on to it as a horseback rider does.
We made the trek up the rather steep incline of the snow drift, balanced
the sled on the tip, and put one foot in, and then cautiously added the
other. A slight shift of your body
weight forward and you would cruise down the hill for 30 or 40 feet. We
had our very own private ski hill - it was like nothing I had experienced
before.
We played outside from lunchtime until a little before dusk. Tirzah and I
heard our mom call from our back doorstep, “Time to come in girls!”
“Tirz, can I please go one more time before we have to go back in? Plleeaasse?”
I begged.”
“Sure you can. Only one more time though!”
That’s when it happened. The
slow motion scene…I falling from my perch in the sled, smacking the snow bank
with my face, bending the nose piece on my glasses. I don’t remember it
fully, only the weightless feeling that overcomes a person when they go into a
free-fall and the sharp pricks of tiny snowflakes that felt like knives on my
face we became very well acquainted.
Being outside in the cold for the past four hours had also numbed my senses. Toes and fingers were barely moving. Conceivably, that’s what contributed to my
ungracious exit from the sled in the first place. I slowly gathered my wits and I back
together, stood up and said,
“Okay, I’m ready
to go in now.”
We took a few steps toward our
house until my sister halted, “Hannah…”
“Yes...?” I waited
for her to finish her thought.
“Is one of the lenses from your glasses
missing?”
“No, I can see
just,” I started to say as I took my mitten off to feel my glasses. “No!
It’s missing! It can’t be missing!
What are we going to do?”
“We’re going to look for it that’s
what we’re going to do.”
The next hour we
looked for it to no avail. My mom had called us several more times since
her initial announcement to come in and had given a last warning to get inside
before she would be coming out to get us.
I was terrified at what the ramifications of my actions would be. When we traipsed in to the house, I was close
to tears.
“Mom? I,” sniffle, “I lost the lens in my glasses!” It wasn’t supposed to
be a wail, but it ended up coming out that way.
Another sniffle and then some tears started falling. I’d been
scared to come in and tell my mom that I lost the lens. I don’t know why
I thought my mom would be upset, but I did. My sister and I had looked
for over an hour and I thought it was hopeless. Now my mom was going to
have to buy me a new pair.
“No use crying
over it Hannah. We’ll go out and look for it. When did you lose it?”
“About an hour ago.” Sniffle.
“Was this before or after I called you to come inside?”
“Well…right afterward.”
“So you waited
until it’s nearly pitch black out to come ask for my help?”
“I’m sorry Mom” and my head drooped
in shame.
Our troop of three
headed back outside equipped with only a flashlight. Imagine yourself
searching for a clear piece of glass with a diameter of one inch by two inches
against a white background that reflects back in prisms of color – the same as
glass. Needle in a haystack anyone?
“About where did you lose it Han?”
“Somewhere over here about I
think?”
My mom walked over to the area, searched and shined the flashlight, and within
five minutes, she caught the glare of something. Was
it?! No. Then…
“What’s that right
over there?”
“YES! Mom you are a miracle worker!”
The lens was found
by pure graciousness from the Lord. My sister and I had spent over one
hour, I repeat, one hour, looking for my missing lens and in less than five
minutes after we had all come outside my mom found it. MOMS! As my mother also reminded me after the
event, if I had come into the house when she first called all of my worry and
angst would never have happened. The
whole incident would never have happened.
Turns out mothers know best too.
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