When The Snows Came

They'd forecast this heavy snow a few days in advance. Evidence could initially be seen at the grocery stores, where the bread and milk shelves were quickly depleted. Gas stations began running out of fuel. Snow shovels and bags of de-icing salt started getting difficult to find. Pickup trucks with snow plows, some with those little $4.99 yellow flashing lights magnetically stuck to the roofs, became increasingly visible on the roadways, waiting for their dollar bills to start falling from the skies.

Then it started snowing, steadily.

My bride and I were at the house we'd just purchased when it began, discussing with a family friend the pros and cons of running water and sewer lines up to the 2nd floor, where we want to build a half bath. By the time Tom left, an hour later, it became obvious we'd be engaged in adventurous driving on the way home.

Right after trekking downtown to the BMV office. Stacy needed her yearly registration sticker.

Here's the thing about winter driving and, admit it, we all have this same mindset: nobody else drives as well in the snow as we do. Everyone else drives too fast, too slow, takes up two lanes because they have no idea where the lane lines are, don't have the faintest idea how to brake on slick streets or how to get up icy hills.

Everyone else needs to just stay home so I can get to where I'm going.

So here Stacy and I are, inbound on Woodville Road towards Cook Rd, snaking moderately through the 3 ninety-degree turns. An oncoming car, driven by a Generation X-er on her cell phone, decides the center of the road belongs to her white Jeep SUV.

Disaster averted, thanks to a drive entrance I was able to encroach upon.

People have been remarking negatively about the City of Mansfield's lack of road maintenance during winter weather, saying they never see city plow trucks working the streets. We passed two withing a 200-yard stretch, plows down and salt slingers scattering material.

We safely arrived at the downtown license bureau, where we were reminded yet again why we prefer going to Shelby's office: the employees in Whippet Country are much more pleasant to deal with.

My wife, now feeling much better for having purchased her new plate sticker (the old one expires tomorrow...she was convinced she would be stopped and thrown in jail for having an expired registration sticker this coming Tuesday), and I started for our current Melody Lane home.     

There is no way to get to Ram Field Ranch without encountering a hill. A big one.

That being the case, I took the bull by the corns and traveled across Grace Street, which my wife thought was crazy; Stacy thought that the big hill between Stewart Road and Sabo Drive would be impossible for our Chevy Equinox to climb, road conditions being what they were.

"There's a key", I told her. "Momentum. Make sure no one is in front of you when you start down the hill so you don't lose momentum because of something they're doing."

Worked like a charm. We had no problem getting up that hill because of inertia.     

We got home and in the garage. Our refuse container, which I'd had the foresight to cover with a tarp supported by multiple two-by-fours the night before, was quickly accumulating snow, which I knew I'd have to sweep off. 

Then it REALLY started snowing.

We resumed our in-home packing, preparing for next weekend's move to the new place, while the storm really started getting serious. I went out and removed snow from the tarp three more times, then got the snowblower into the mix, clearing out 2/3rds of the drive in the semi-lighted darkness.

This morning, after more snow and high winds overnight, you can't tell I even touched it. But that's OK, though....

...my wife just put a pot roast, with carrots, potatoes and onions, in the crockpot. We may not be bale to get out, but we'll be eating well.