January 3rd has been a day upfront in my memories for 50 years now. It was a Sunday (as it is this year). My family and I attended church services that morning as we did every Sunday in my growing-up-years. If there had been a forecast of snow, we were unaware. We were dressed for winter weather in northwest Illinois but not for what was to happen during the 2 hours we were in the church house.
As the services ended, someone came running inside saying that is was snowing. It certainly had been and was and would continue until 16.5 inches of snow fell our community in just a matter of a few hours. Some of the men in the congregation surveyed the situation and decided to stay inside for a while. That area of Illinois was prepared and equipped to clear the roads but, it would take some time because of the great amount of snow that was falling and piling up on the roads. The wives of these wise men decided they could borrow some canned goods from the church pantry and prepare their lunch in the church kitchen while waiting for the roads to be cleared.
But, not my Dad! No, no, not my Dad! When he saw the plump flakes of snow continue to fall, putting layer and layer of snow on top everything, he had to get us home right then! He went into full alarm mode. Several men helped him push our ugly green Ford station wagon filled with four kids and Mother out of the little cove in which the church house sat, up the hill to the access road that would lead our ugly green wagon of anxious family members to the John Deere Expressway. This morning the Expressway was expressing nothing. It was at this point that my Dad, who was prepared for any contingency in life, realized he was not prepared for this trip!
He took off his glasses to keep them from being coated in snow, then borrowed my new matching set of wool hat, scarf and gloves to keep from freezing. He walked to a house nearby to borrow a shovel. Most winters he would have had a pair of work coveralls, work gloves and his Russian hat (with the flaps to pull down over his ears) to wear stored in the “way-back” of the station wagon. There would also have been a shovel and other tools to help. But, now not this January 3, 1971. The first house refused him help but the second one lent him a shovel.
Thus, began our three-hour journey home. Our usual 15-minute drive would be hours of “dig-drive-dig-drive-dig-drive”. Dad would dig out a path as far as he could, run back to the car and drive up to where he had finished clearing. Then he would dig some more snow, then drive, then dig, then drive. He wouldn’t let Mother or Mike help with the driving part. He would do it all.
Meanwhile, in the “way-back” of the station wagon, my 3-year-old brother, James, was thrilled with the snow falling and piling up all around us as we dug our short spurts of free driving up the hill to our neighborhood in Silvis, Illinois. His face was pushed up tight against the window in sheer awe. This was probably the first snow of this depth that he had seen in his entire young life. He wanted so badly to get in the snow, to fully experience the magnificence and beauty of the frozen whiteness. Every time Dad got back in the car he would ask: “Dad, can I get out in the snow?” Dad would reply every time: “No, no kids in the snow!” Nonetheless, James asked until finally we arrived at the entrance into our neighborhood – Broadlawn Addition.
Dad, in defeat, said to Mother: “I guess you and the girls and the boy will have to walk in from here. Mike and I will try to get the car closer to the house another way.”
Sidebar: Dad’s children did have names, ones he gave them – Rita was Princess, Mike was Sunny (‘cause he was so bright), I was Sis, Kay was Rosebud and James was: “Don’t touch that! You’ll break it”
James was thrilled! Finally, he was going to get out in the big, beautiful, bright, shining snow! I pushed open the back door as far as I could into the snow bank. James came flying from across by left shoulder, feet first into the snow. The snow hit him about collar bone level. All we could see was his little toe-headed noggin poking out of the drifting snow. He called to Mother: “Help me, momma, help me! I lost me. I lost me!” Poor fellow could not move an inch.
None of us had on snow boots. We were pretty sure we would lose a shoe in the snow and maybe, a little brother or sister, as well. Mother stomped through the snow and with my help we pulled the little boy out of the snow and Mother packed him the ¾ of a mile to the house. I held tightly to little Kay’s hand, she was not much bigger than James. When we got to the house, we peeled off wet clothes, replaced them with our flannel pajamas and sat with our feet propped up in front of the gas stove. Mother made some hot chocolate to help warm our insides. Mike and Dad returned home an hour or so later. They hadn’t got the car home but got it off the highway. They would go back the next day, after the snowplows had done their work to retrieve it.
Isn’t life like that snow storm of 50 years ago? Life looks so beautiful falling to the ground. Even the mounds of snow were pretty as the sun’s rays glistened off them. For someone who had not experienced it in its fullness, it was most inviting. As we look at life and the opportunities in front of us this new year, with our faces pressed up against the window. Almost salivating at the wonder as we rest anxiously in the warmth and safety of our family’s ugly green Ford station wagon. When we see an opening, not matter how small or unknown, we leap with all our might and we lose ourselves. Covered up to our chin, we can’t move.
I don’t know all the lessons we can learn from our family trip in 1971. How about: take it slow, wait for assistance when making decisions in your life’s journey. No matter how beautiful and inviting, it may be more than you can handle alone. When you can’t move, look for the helping hand and head for home. Stop trying to wiggle yourself free. You might need someone higher than you to lift you up; to help you find yourself.
Happy New Year! Always turn toward home.
Big Daddy - one of the many times he was prepared for traveling in snow.
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