Take a look at the photo to the left. That's my street, looking west. You might expect that I took this photo today. Nope. It was taken on December 26, 2009. Last month. Last year. Almost exactly two weeks ago. And two weeks later, my street still looks like that, except there are 4-foot piles of snow lining the curbs where the snow plows have made a pass. Oh, and that bit of pavement visible in the middle of the street? Long since covered over. We've had two more significant snows since Christmas Eve, adding more layers. Not only that, a plunge into single digit temperatures plus wind chills in the negative double digits has kept the snow in place.
I realize this is nothing compared to what folks are dealing with in the Upper Midwest, or, for that matter, what folks in the Northeast and mountain regions deal with every winter. But for the same snow to stay on the ground for two weeks (and counting) in Kansas City -- not to mention the frigid temperatures and dangerous wind chills -- well, it's unusual to say the least.
As my husband's mother used to say, "It's real winter out there." Real winter, indeed. In the nearly forty years I've lived in Kansas, I don't recall another Christmas Eve blizzard like we had this year, and I can't remember snow lasting this long without a thaw. But, despite the fairly mild winters we've had over the last decade, it's not unheard of to experience this much snow and an Arctic cold snap here in the middle of the country. So, having been driven indoors by the blowing snow and bone-chilling air, I've had plenty of time to reminisce about other "real winters" in my life.
It's an old cliche: In my day, we walked two miles to school through the snow -- uphill . . . both ways! While it may be a bit of an exaggeration (okay, it's a myth), I would like to point out to the young people in my life that yes, they do in fact have it easier than we did! Nowadays school districts cancel classes at the drop of a snowflake, it seems. Certainly, this past week all school districts in metro Kansas City were forced to close due to several factors: icy streets, bitter temperatures, and, I suspect, fear of lawsuits if anyone got hurt trying to get to school. I'm not being critical -- it makes perfect sense. Obviously school officials have learned over time that it's better to be safe than sorry. I wish it had been so when I was in school.
I remember one winter day my sophomore year in high school when a heavy snow was falling and blowing into drifts in the roads. Was school cancelled? Of course not! Nobody cancelled school in the 70s -- for shame! I lived at Ft. Leavenworth at the time and attended Leavenworth High, which was several miles from the post. The bus was late arriving to pick us up (no surprise, given the road conditions); I recall waiting 25 minutes in the bitter cold. Finally, the bus arrived. We made one more pickup after my stop, then headed into town toward the school. The usual route took us up a steep hill. Now, taking into consideration there were no more stops along the way, plus the slick road conditions -- with snow blowing and drifting across the street -- you would think the bus driver would choose a different route, at least one a little more traveled. You would be wrong. The driver gamely headed up the hill as everyone on the bus nervously watched. Halfway up the hill the bus slid off the road . . . and into a ditch. We waited more than 30 minutes for another bus to come and pick us up. When it arrived, it stopped at the top of the hill; the driver had been instructed to stay there rather than take a chance sliding downhill and getting stuck. You guessed it -- all of us students were told to get off the bus and hike up the hill to the waiting bus. So, when I say I walked uphill in the snow and bitter cold to school . . . I'm not kidding!
Or how about driving over 200 miles in the snow to school? I did that, too. Well, technically, I was driving home from college through the snow. I had driven a flute buddy and myself back to Manhattan, Kansas over Winter Break to play in the pep band for a K-State basketball game. After we arrived in Manhattan, it started to snow; by the end of the game, travel was treacherous. We decided to spend the night in Manhattan and drive back to Kansas City the next day.
The following day we headed east on I-70, which, due to blowing snow, was patchy at best. Somewhere in the desolate No-Man's-Land of the Flint Hills, between Wamego and Topeka, we slid off the highway into the snow-filled median. There were no exits, no buildings, no rest stops, not even any other traffic on the highway. If I had been driving any other vehicle, we would have been stuck there for days (remember, kids, this was B.C. -- Before Cell phones). But, as luck would have it, I was driving my parents' 1975 Oldsmobile Regency -- the only custom-built "luxury" car they ever owned. It was silver gray with a plush velour interior, power steering, power brakes, power windows, and power seats. By 1970s standards, it was just about the classiest car you could buy, short of a BMW. It was very long and roomy, almost like being inside a limo. It was a little like driving a limo, too -- the hood seemed to stretch all the way to the horizon.
By the early 80s, its glamour days were over, but the thing was built like a Sherman tank. A few years later, my future husband would dub it the "S.S. Coble." So, summoning my Army brat wits from a childhood spent in the military (having seen the movie "Patton" didn't hurt, either), I drove the S.S. Coble forward, slow and steady, straight up the median until I found a relatively clear spot to re-enter the highway. I gingerly steered onto I-70 and headed home. Whenever I see an SUV spun out in the snow along the highway, I remember that day. The S.S. Coble was a great big, clunky gas guzzler, but damn -- it sure could handle snow!
Fast forward to December, 1987. I was a grad student at the University of Kansas, working toward my master's degree in music education. Just my luck -- the day I had two major finals, it started snowing in the wee hours of the morning. As dawn broke, the snow intensified, which is how I found myself driving to Lawrence at 7:30 am in blizzard-like conditions. What was normally a 35-minute drive took nearly two hours as I drove no faster than 25 mph on westbound K-10, peering through the blinding snow -- visibility no more than about 30 feet -- all the while trying to keep my Toyota Tercel steady in the whipping wind. My first final began at 9:00 am; I arrived at 9:15. Dr. Radocy's jaw dropped when I walked in. "I did not expect to see you here! Now that's dedication!" he exclaimed. But there I was, so he gave me a copy of the test. I pulled out my blue book and ballpoint pen. The final exam for his class was an essay test. As I began to write, my hand wobbled; I struggled to hold the darned pen. I realized that I had been gripping the steering wheel so hard during my torturous drive, my hand was shaking from the tension! Somehow, I managed to write, and I even finished the exam 10 minutes early. My handwriting looked pretty sloppy, but it must have been legible -- Dr. Radocy gave me an A!
So there you have it -- the snow stories of my youth. All of us "old folks" love to tell them. They aren't cautionary tales so much as validation -- and proof of survival. The advantage of age is that we've "been there, done that" and lived to tell about it. And we lived to tell about it because we learned something from the experience. Wisdom gained, which we can now pass along to the younger generation from safe inside our warm homes by the fire, with a cup of hot tea in our hands.
Because, kids, the point is this: I already walked up that snowpacked hill in -10 wind chills to school -- now it's your turn! What? You say they cancelled school? Another snow day? What a bunch of wimps! What stories will you have to tell your grandkids? Tell you what, get me another cup of tea, and I'll let you borrow one of mine.
Or how about driving over 200 miles in the snow to school? I did that, too. Well, technically, I was driving home from college through the snow. I had driven a flute buddy and myself back to Manhattan, Kansas over Winter Break to play in the pep band for a K-State basketball game. After we arrived in Manhattan, it started to snow; by the end of the game, travel was treacherous. We decided to spend the night in Manhattan and drive back to Kansas City the next day.
The following day we headed east on I-70, which, due to blowing snow, was patchy at best. Somewhere in the desolate No-Man's-Land of the Flint Hills, between Wamego and Topeka, we slid off the highway into the snow-filled median. There were no exits, no buildings, no rest stops, not even any other traffic on the highway. If I had been driving any other vehicle, we would have been stuck there for days (remember, kids, this was B.C. -- Before Cell phones). But, as luck would have it, I was driving my parents' 1975 Oldsmobile Regency -- the only custom-built "luxury" car they ever owned. It was silver gray with a plush velour interior, power steering, power brakes, power windows, and power seats. By 1970s standards, it was just about the classiest car you could buy, short of a BMW. It was very long and roomy, almost like being inside a limo. It was a little like driving a limo, too -- the hood seemed to stretch all the way to the horizon.
By the early 80s, its glamour days were over, but the thing was built like a Sherman tank. A few years later, my future husband would dub it the "S.S. Coble." So, summoning my Army brat wits from a childhood spent in the military (having seen the movie "Patton" didn't hurt, either), I drove the S.S. Coble forward, slow and steady, straight up the median until I found a relatively clear spot to re-enter the highway. I gingerly steered onto I-70 and headed home. Whenever I see an SUV spun out in the snow along the highway, I remember that day. The S.S. Coble was a great big, clunky gas guzzler, but damn -- it sure could handle snow!
Fast forward to December, 1987. I was a grad student at the University of Kansas, working toward my master's degree in music education. Just my luck -- the day I had two major finals, it started snowing in the wee hours of the morning. As dawn broke, the snow intensified, which is how I found myself driving to Lawrence at 7:30 am in blizzard-like conditions. What was normally a 35-minute drive took nearly two hours as I drove no faster than 25 mph on westbound K-10, peering through the blinding snow -- visibility no more than about 30 feet -- all the while trying to keep my Toyota Tercel steady in the whipping wind. My first final began at 9:00 am; I arrived at 9:15. Dr. Radocy's jaw dropped when I walked in. "I did not expect to see you here! Now that's dedication!" he exclaimed. But there I was, so he gave me a copy of the test. I pulled out my blue book and ballpoint pen. The final exam for his class was an essay test. As I began to write, my hand wobbled; I struggled to hold the darned pen. I realized that I had been gripping the steering wheel so hard during my torturous drive, my hand was shaking from the tension! Somehow, I managed to write, and I even finished the exam 10 minutes early. My handwriting looked pretty sloppy, but it must have been legible -- Dr. Radocy gave me an A!
So there you have it -- the snow stories of my youth. All of us "old folks" love to tell them. They aren't cautionary tales so much as validation -- and proof of survival. The advantage of age is that we've "been there, done that" and lived to tell about it. And we lived to tell about it because we learned something from the experience. Wisdom gained, which we can now pass along to the younger generation from safe inside our warm homes by the fire, with a cup of hot tea in our hands.
Because, kids, the point is this: I already walked up that snowpacked hill in -10 wind chills to school -- now it's your turn! What? You say they cancelled school? Another snow day? What a bunch of wimps! What stories will you have to tell your grandkids? Tell you what, get me another cup of tea, and I'll let you borrow one of mine.
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