Every so often, the stars align for a perfect snow day. That is, heavy snowfall with no deadlines, no appointments and no errands. The larder is full, so there’s no pressing need to venture to the supermarket. Martha’s last trek to the library provided half a dozen unread books, as well as the two Horatio Hornblower DVDs that we haven’t watched. In case the power goes out, we have Coleman lanterns ready, a good fire in the parlor stove and a cribbage board at hand.
In short, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. There was little reason to go outside at all, except to start shoveling the walk. It is required by a city ordinance that, to my knowledge, has never been enforced. That is probably a good thing, because the last walks to be cleared are generally those along city property, like parks. Over time, I’ve learned it’s best to tackle the snow as it falls, rather than all at once after the storm has passed.
My next-door neighbor was already out with his snowblower and he waved me off as he came down my sidewalk. So I knocked the snow off the Blazer, just in case we might need to go somewhere, and shoveled a path back to the woodpile so that the wheelbarrow might roll more easily, because I needed to fetch a load of firewood. I had known the storm was coming, but had been too lazy the preceding day to bring extra loads of wood to the front porch.
Thus I had to sweep the woodpile with a broom so I could find the stash of stuff that was already split. But in less than 15 minutes, I was back inside, enjoying the fire.
Of course the dog needed his daily walk, and he can be a serious nag, running around in nervous circles until his leash comes out of the hall closet.
Fortunately, Martha volunteered for that excursion. I drove her and the dog down to the river for his outing. She said they could walk back home. I argued that this would be dangerous when there are cars sliding around. She said she could maneuver better than the cars. I pointed out that if there are vehicles sliding around, you’re better off with two tons of metal around you. I suffer from a lurid fear that a car will slide toward me and as I attempt to evade it, I slip on the ice and can’t get away. We have this discussion every time there’s appreciable snow, and neither has changed the other’s mind.
I stopped by Safeway and found the store was out of cheap eggnog, which meant forgoing my holiday-season evening libation of eggnog with rye – rum is traditional, but it makes the concoction too sweet, whereas the tartness of rye makes the drink taste about perfect when I knock off at 6 p.m. to catch the re-run of “The Daily Show” on Comedy Central and cheer myself with some biased liberal media.
The eggnog shortage was the extent of my deprivation. Sometimes our little satellite dish doesn’t work during snowstorms, but this wasn’t one of those times.
So I don’t have any horror stories from the blizzard of 2006. My parents called from Longmont because they were worried that we might be snowed in. A wire-service photo of downtown Salida, with the snow coming down hard, had appeared on the front page of the Daily Times-Call there.
They figured that when it snows in Colorado, it snows hardest in the mountains. That may be generally true, but Salida is an exception. We get less snow in an average year than Denver does. We’re in a rain shadow, with desert foliage like yucca and cacti.
So we were fine, with only a foot of snow, able to come and go if necessary, I explained, although we hadn’t needed to go much of anywhere. My folks had 2 feet and were snowed in, but they had no need to go anywhere, either.
Overall, the snow day was a pretty good day of loafing. Or it should have been. Every time I turned on the TV or the radio, there were accounts of stranded travelers and abandoned cars and closed airports and highways, of merchants losing business, of resorts with snow but no patrons, of people in shelters.
I felt conflicted. I knew I should feel sympathy for them, since I could easily have been among them. But on the other hand, I wanted to enjoy a quiet, peaceful snow day. Perhaps it would have been better if the power had gone out, so that I could have remained in blissful ignorance.
Ed Quillen of Salida (ed@cozine.com) is a former newspaper editor whose column appears Tuesday and Sunday.
