SNOW (1993 – ditto
2016)
This was written during the
1993 snowstorm but while the forecasting has improved, preparation and clean up
are much the same!
“There’s a disturbance” on the West Coast that could ride
along the jet stream and cause a major snow event in the East by the weekend.”
Such is the announcement that big snow “events” take with hints of impending
chaos and doom even when it is only Monday.
Very little makes this center of the western world tremble as much
as snow. Any covert threats to safety, the CIA checks it out; looming asteroids
getting too close, NASA takes care of that; mysterious events, FBI is
investigating; threats from abroad, the Pentagon mounts myriad forces to do the
shock and awe treatment and leave them trembling. But the one terror that
leaves them all powerless––SNOW––the four letter word that strikes more fear
and terror into the heart of the Washington area than anything else.
As the week progressed under sunny skies but frigid
temperatures, the snow totals mounted; 4-6” in the morning became 8-12” by
evening; by the following day 12-16” and finally two feet and counting. This
was to be a megastorm to rival other historical storms on record. Schools announced closures, regional activities came to a halt – all before a snowflake
had been sighted. But we try to keep a
slightly cynical mentality about snow totals also. So often we have been
deceived by alarmist forecasters who foresaw whiteouts on the computer models,
which turned into mere flurries on the ground.
I should have expected something when I went to do my usual
weekly shopping and had to park in the proverbial left field of the spacious
car park. Refusing to bow to the lemming mentality I decided that a visit to
the bookstore would be a necessity because in my mind, being snowed in provided
the perfect opportunity to curl up with a book. Thinking “snow” read as opposed
to beach read, the obvious choice was Snow
Falling on Cedars! With the one essential purchase made, it was time to
head to the grocery store. A cursory
glance suggested that it was not overly busy and so I wound my way round the
produce selecting fruit and vegetables. It was only when I met the middle
aisles and encountered backups of patient and not so patient shoppers with
overladen carts that I realized this was going to take longer than expected.
I too eventually joined a line and reflected on the
different groups of shoppers around me. There were the “combat” grim-faced group
who made their way from bread to milk to flour to toilet rolls and who passed
disparaging looks to those who were thoughtfully inspecting their lists. Then there
were those who were stocking up seemingly in the event that it would be months
before stores would reopen. Then to my surprise there were some whose carts
were filled with frivolities as if the family would party their way through the
storm. I must admit a certain resentment for these people who with their superfluous
purchases were cluttering up the aisles. Then there were the regular
shoppers who had picked over the remaining offerings of the near empty shelves.
There were anomalies I could not fathom: flour and cake mixes had been cleaned
out. What? Were all these busy people suddenly going to find their inner Martha
Stewart and bake cookies and cakes? This is not an area where women bake: we buy, we order,
we visit expensive French bakeries so this seemed quite absurd. Bread was snatched
up as it was being set out; triple decker sandwiches seemed to be a fixture on everyone's survival menu!
Eventually I passed through the check out and set off home –
to wait. And then it began, one flake, then another floated past the
window, barely perceptible at first and then still distinguishable as a gentle
layer removed the sharp edges from winter’s harsh landscapes. But in the
night hours it happened, a thick white soft blanket rounded and covered the
ground, 12” then 18” and then 24” deep until we were surrounded, besieged, and
cut off from the world beyond the doors. All we could do was watch and wait. It
had its own beauty, this machine with a mind of its own, spilling, spewing,
sputtering flakes on its victims.
Finally, in the light of a second day, it ceased! And we
opened the door to marvel at its beauty, to survey and recall what used to be
recognizable landmarks. Eventually a new
reality set in; dressed for skiing but equipped with shovels rather than skis,
we adopted the maxim that the road to the street and freedom begins with one
small shovelful and then another… and another!
