Ah, the New England Blizzard of 1978. A storm so legendary it should have its own theme song, sung by a baritone with a healthy dose of post-traumatic stress. You know, something like “The Snow Drifts Were High, the Power Was Out, and My Shovel Became My Best Friend (And It Judged Me Silently).”

In Arlington, MA where I lived we were not spared the whiteout wrath. Picture this: me, a wide-eyed 20-something, armed with a plastic shovel that looked like it belonged on a children’s sandbox (because, well, it did). I dug, I huffed, I puffed, and managed to unearth my trusty Buick, christened “Rusty” for reasons unrelated to that current situation.

Victory! Except… not quite. Stepping out of my car turned snow-fort, I realized the world outside was a marshmallowy wasteland. Drifts towered like Arctic mountains, mocking my optimism. Any attempt to drive would have resulted in Rusty becoming a permanent snow sculpture with me as its shivering, frostbitten driver.

So, here I was, inside of my snowy Buick castle. My domain? The limited radius of my shoveling prowess. Entertainment? The radio, crackling with static and promises of a “major thaw” that seemed about as likely as winning the lottery with a chewed-up Megabucks ticket.

But hey, a blizzard like this is practically a rite of passage in New England. It’s when the true grit of us New England peoples shine through, or at least, when we discover our hidden talent for hoarding snacks. Because let’s face it, overcoming a blizzard without a well-stocked pantry is like facing a dragon without a sword (I myself would need at least a decent pizza cutter).

Thankfully, my foresight (or maybe just a severe case of potato chip-induced addiction) had me prepared. My fridge and pantry shelves had become a cornucopia of questionable frozen dinners, dubious canned goods, and enough raw pasta to fuel a small army of college students. I may not have been able to leave my snowy castle but I could conquer Mount Snackrifice with the gusto of a famished Yeti.

Days turned into nights, the only clock the rising and setting sun filtering through my blizzard-blurred windows. My social life, already questionable, became nonexistent. But in the quiet solitude, a strange sense of camaraderie bloomed. I waved at my neighbors through the window, their equally snowbound existence mirrored in their bewildered expressions. We were all in this together, united by our shared struggle against the Great White Buffalo (or whatever you call a blizzard with a superiority complex).

Finally, the thaw arrived. Slowly, the snowdrifts receded, revealing a world blinking in the sunlight like a sleepy owl. ‘Rusty’, freed from his icy prison, sputtered back to life with a cough and a wheeze. The world outside, though still scarred by the storm, was slowly returning to normal.

As I drove through the slush-filled streets, the experience left a strange imprint. Sure, it was inconvenient, messy, and frankly, a little scary. But it was also oddly… liberating? A reminder that sometimes, the most important things are the simple ones: a warm car, a full fridge, and the knowledge that even in the face of a blizzard, the human spirit (and a well-stocked pantry) can prevail.

So, the next time a winter storm threatens to turn my world into one giant snowball I will remember the Blizzard of ’78, embrace the absurdity, stock up on snacks, and definitely invest in a better shovel. Because who knows, I might just find myself the unlikely hero of my own snowbound adventure – again. Consider yourselves warned and don’t blame me if your only companions are a chorus of hungry squirrels and a fridge full of questionable leftovers.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a sudden craving for pasta and a strong urge to check the weather forecast. You know, just in case…

–30–

I developed an awe of the men (I never saw a woman) who worked for CalTrans at all hours and conditions, keeping the roads open. 
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I don’t remember snow days when I was in school. That’s because school never closed for snow or cold winter days. We had warm hats, scarves, mittens, boots, and snowsuits. Think Ralph’s little brother in A Christmas Story. And we walked to and from school. So, it’s no surprise that I pulled my three little kids on a sled to school one snowy day so the oldest two could go to school, only to discover school was closed. This was my first encounter with snow days.

In my defense, the internet, cell phones, texting, etc. didn’t exist back then. I’m not sure how I was supposed to know it was a snow day. Maybe I missed the call from the school secretary while I was pulling that sled. My memory is that snow days were infrequent for my kids and a fun break from school. Because there so few of them, I don’t recall having to make them up at the end of the school year.

For my grandkids, snow days were more frequent. In January, 2014, we experienced a snow/cold snap that extended Winter Vacation by several days. At this point, most parents were suffering from frozen spirits and minds, numbed by the challenge of finding even more indoor activities for their housebound children, who had missed 18 days of school and counting … Traditional winter delights were out:

• No sledding – too cold
• No ice skating – not only too cold but how to find the ice under all of that snow
• No field trips – car is also frozen

That January, my four-year-old grandson “attended” preschool five half-days a week in Indiana. I use the term “attended” loosely because since winter vacation ended January 3, he had gone to school five times. That’s right, he had 14 “snow” days before finally returning to school. That same winter, my local granddaughters spent several days playing in my basement when it was too cold to go outside for a chunk of time that extended Winter Vacation an extra week.

That did leave lots of screen (and screaming) time. One of the days, I asked my 7-year-old granddaughter to make a list of what we could do to entertain ourselves while the -45 wind-chill raged outside.  Here’s her 9-point plan:

1. Bake a challah
2. Balloons (as in blow up, tie, and hit with an old badminton racket)
3. Wacky string (to be squirted all over my basement)
4. Bowling (home plastic version with her keeping score and mysteriously beating her sisters)
5. Roller blades and scooters (also all over my basement)
6. Dance to What Does the Fox Say?
7. Have a pajama party
8. Watch a movie (maybe The Swan Princess for the 25^th time)
9. Maybe do a hard puzzle or build something with Legos

My grandkids may have been bored, but at least they were safe. What about all of the kids whose parents didn’t have sitters or grandmothers crazy enough to entertain them? Snow days create tough choices for them. I doubt their employers gave them paid snow days off of work, so they had to choose between non-paid time off work, the threat of losing their job, or leaving their kids home alone. For some children, school is their safe haven and the place where they receive two of their daily meals. Was anyone thinking about them?

I know from 25 years of personal experience as a preschool administrator how hard it is to make the decision to close school. Generally, we did it whenever our local public schools also closed. And that was almost always due to massive amounts of snow and ice making travel dangerous and parking impossible.

On days I kept the school open despite bad weather, mostly because our public schools were also open, teachers were surprised that people showed up – lots of them. Maybe these parents had older kids and were out anyhow. Maybe they had children with special needs for whom a break in the routine was a disaster. Maybe they walked, pulling their kids in sleds, veterans of Chicago-style winters. I made no judgments regarding their decision to come or about parents who opted to keep their children home.

Here’s a great snow day story. The superintendent of Brownsburg, Indiana schools decided to keep schools open on a snowy, cold January day during the years when the weather was more typical of midwestern winters. He was deluged by tweets and Facebook posts decrying the decision. One parent asked, “How would you like to stand at the bus stop with my kids in this weather?” His answer was, “Sure, tell me when and where.”  He showed up at her bus stop with shirts for the kids that said #Bulldog Strong and waited with them for that bus. Bravo for literally taking a stand on this issue.

These days, we have gotten to the point of closing schools based on weather forecasts, which are often wrong. Now that schools, post-pandemic, are capable of having remote learning days, there are even more school closings, but instead of snow days when kids could play outside (weather permitting), they are stuck in front of a computer doing zoom lessons. I think romping in piles of snow or playing in grandma’s basement for a good, old-fashioned snow day is probably better for kids in the long run.

 

 

“My ex-husband thought of himself as a ‘breast man.’” She paused. “What have I gotten myself tangled up with here? A ‘floor man?’”
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