Return of the Snow Day

Well, the snow has visited us again.  It's unprecedented really, we don't normally get snow until January, so getting two snow storms so early is just further proof that we're in for a long, and difficult winter.  There have been other signs too.  Lots of people have had their livestock attacked by hungry predators because our summer was so dry, like the bear that was so hungry in September that it tried to steal our chickens.  Since we pay attention to those signs that nature sends us, we've been preparing early this year, but even so, I'm not looking forward to the extra snow and the extra cold.  Fortunately I have an ample supply of cozy colorful sweaters to keep me warm and help keep the winter blues at bay during what is sure to be a very cold winter.

I remember that winter, not as the coldest of my childhood, for certainly there were colder years, but as the snowiest. At four years old time crawls.  A year took a year; at 40 a year takes mere minutes.  At four I hadn't faced the scourge of going to school, instead I happily moved aside so my brother could get out of the truck at the bus stop each morning then turned around to ponder his baleful face and give toothy-grin/double-hand wave as mom and I drove home to resume a pleasant day of cow milking, chicken sandwich eating, sweat pants wearing, and One Life to Live watching.  I couldn't imagine what Jay's day was like, but mine was awesome and I knew it.  At four I still had two healthy, unbroken legs and a sweet naiveté about our rusty farm truck's ability to crush those bones, but again that's a story for another time.  And at four winter and snow were a wonder not a dread, but that would soon change.

Layers of freezing rain came first and when the ground was solid the ice was followed by snow upon snow upon snow.  It felt like there was fresh snow falling each day, and I ran out to swirl around in it, arms raised above my head, mouth open waiting to catch a snowflake on my tongue just before mom and I hopped in the truck to collect my brother from the bus stop.  In the evenings mom would milk the cows and that year was the last year that we were too little to stay home alone, so we went with her while she milked.  Cow milking is not the hive of activity you might imagine, so my brother and I found ways to entertain ourselves.  When I was alone I annoyed the cats, mashed berries off the poke bush, or poked the elderly blue heeler with a stick until he growled at me.  When my brother and I were together, there were adventures to be had.  On this particular evening riding in The Bone Crusher back when it was still just "the truck," over the crunchy dirt driveway to the milkbarn impatient Holsteins stood swollen and hungry.  There was so much snow on the ground I felt like we were walking in snow tunnels everywhere we went.  What did the sun look like? I couldn't remember anything but walls of snow.  

For some snow meant snow angels or snowmen, not us, we'd never had much luck with those.  There were too many rocks to make a good snowman, and it seemed like anytime we did a trustfall into the snow and made an angel we stood up to discover dog poop smeared across our backs.  My brother, ever the little Che Guevara, had war in his tiny heart.  He dreamt not of angels or men, but of conquest.  He had snow forts with fully stocked snow arsenals in his schemes. He drew designs of snowballs dipped in water and left to freeze over night for maximum bruising.  There were depictions of "dirty" snowballs that had gravel rolled into them and exploded on impact, gravel tearing through scarf and cheek like shrapnel.  Behind his fort he would launch a sweeping campaign until he had conquered all: venerable blue heelers, long-toothed tabbies, mangy squirrels, scornful cows, (there were no other children around for miles) the whole hundred acre farm!  Then like Alexander the Great, he would weep when there were no more worlds to conquer.  Unlike Alexander, who needed generals and infantry men, my brother would fill all those roles, he only needed an extra set of hands for the hard labor of packing and then hefting all those snow creations and that's where I came in handy. With the snow drifting ever higher, it was almost time to begin his campaign.  Like any good subuduer of civilizations my brother realized the need to properly survey the landscape first and decided that the highest point we could reach was the ramp that led out of the milkbarn. 

The cows waited their turn in the lot, then walked up a ramp once their number was called, and onto a raised cement platform for a shakedown with the electric milkers.   The platforms were raised so that mom could stand at full height and walk along either side adjusting the milkers at eye level instead of bending down and reaching under the cows putting herself in the danger zone should some uppity heifer detesting an icy touch on her udder haul off and kick.   Once these generous and long suffering ladies were fully drained, a sliding door opened and the cows walked down a seven foot tall cement ramp and out into the fields where there was fresh hay waiting for them.  Having decided that the best use of our evening and the best way to really see what he was up against in his thirst for conquest was to climb up that ramp caked in frozen manure and snow and then as a little bonus adventure we'd jump from the top and land on that pillowy blanket of snow that was nearly as tall as the ramp itself, Jay tugged on my sleeve as we walked into the barn.  "Hey, let's climb up the ramp and jump in the snow."  

Lavender snow suit zipped up to my chin, gray snow boots with rainbows at the sides, lilac hat with argyle hearts and a pom-pom atop, and faux fur trimmed hood pulled close to my cheeks, I stomped into the milkbarn, unenthused at the idea of climbing up a ramp that to me looked as tall as a mountain only to plummet into a snow so deep I felt certain it would swallow me and I wouldn't be found until the spring thaw.  In his own navy snow suit, boots, and equally ridiculous hat, he was determined to sway me.  "It'll be fun!" He said.  "What if we get stuck down there?"  "We'll tunnel our way out."  "What if we can't?"  "We'll build a fort (there it was) and live down there until the snow melts."  It was terrifying; it was brilliant; I was in.     

We tied a rope to both our waists like we'd seen in the movies.  Although intended to stop one of us from falling, it really just assured that if one of us went down they'd have company.  Grabbing hand and foot holds, we began our treacherous and disgusting ascent; manure is manure even if it's frozen.    Inching along, braving the wind and slick conditions, I imagine Sir Edmund Hillary may have felt something akin to our exhilaration as he braved his little mountain.  Exhausted and half frozen we did a victory dance at the top.  The dance halted at the hips, too much movement and we would slip and tumble back to the bottom.  Moment celebrated, we peered over the edge of the ramp and into the swirling depths, then turned to look at each other.  "Ready?" He asked me.  I was not.  "You first," I said.  He smirked, "baby."  I twisted up my face.  I am two years younger than my brother and most definitely not just a baby but the baby in our family.  We both knew it, but I hated it when he said it like that.  He laughed and jumped, Plaf!  Gone.  Down into the layers of snow.  I pitched to the edge.  Eons passed as I waited, silent, searching.... RAAAAAHH!!  He punched through the snow, chest out, head back, mouth open and fists clenched at his sides in triumph like the alien bursting out of John Hurt's chest.  I was no less surprised than Ripley and her crew and I darted back from the ledge.   "C'mon!" He yelled as he disappeared again beneath the snow.  

Timorous but encouraged I steeled my nerves.  C'mon now, don't be a baby...Or at least don't let him see you're a baby.  Jaw set, knees bent, I cannonballed.  I fell for just a moment through the powder and fluff, CRUNCH! directly onto a mound of frozen mud, instantly breaking my tailbone.  In our excitement we forgot that under all those feet of snow was at least an inch or two of solid ice and that ice was as unforgiving as the snow was welcoming.  Just as he had planned, my brother tunneled his way out of the snowdrift and left me there....also according to his plan.   

I lay dazed.  "Bub!"  I called.  "What?"  "Help me!"  "I never said we'd tunnel out together, you're on your own."  "Bubba, I think I broke my butt!"  "Andra, I'm pretty sure everyone has a crack there," he called back in earnest and continued tunneling to his freedom.  "No, bub, I really think it's broken."  "Fine, stay there, baby. I'm going to get back to the top and jump again"  Like a prophetic vision, I saw him reaching the top and jumping again only to land directly on top of my already broken form.  Knowing I should move or risk being the landing pad for his second plunge, I heaved myself up.   "And when I do jump again," he shouted, "you can't live in my snow fort!"  That. Was.  Too.  Far.   Eternity trapped alone under the snow with a broken butt while he lived a life of snow-luxury?  No sir!  Fear and anger merged.  In my panic induced adrenalin rush I  beast-shredded my way out of the snow.

 

I emerged snow caked and screaming like a nightmare yeti and ran bow-legged into the milkbarn and straight to my mom.  "MAAAWWWWM!"  She paused milking, sank down to my level, grabbed my shoulders scanning me for signs of disaster and asked, "What's wrong?"  "Jay pushed me off the ramp and I broke my butt!" I blurted.  The concern on her face was shoved aside by annoyance.  She stood up again.  "You can't break your butt.  I'm almost done, just go play."  "you can so," I muttered as I turned away.  Her bat-hearing zeroed in on my sass and responded, "That crack is supposed to be there!"  

Like a cowpoke just off a hundred mile horse ride I hobbled back into the snow, just in time to see my brother taking his second dive off the ramp.  I heard an Ow!  from under the snow.  Mom finished milking and beckoned us into the truck.  I climbed in first and scooched over to allow my brother to slide in next to me.  He slammed the door and turned to me.  "The ground is frozen under the snow.  It really hurt when I fell.  I think I broke my butt too."  I stared ahead, pleased at this small justice and replied, "you can't break your butt...you baby."  His scorn burned hot enough to warm up the ride home.  He crossed his arms over his chest, hmpfed! and looked out the window.  

It was a full year of walking tenderly before I recovered from my fall and about ten years before I told my mom about my injury.   I waited not just because I didn't want to seem like a whiny baby, but also because there was a far more serious injury on the way that kind of overshadowed this one, but this little incident did put an end to me ever jumping into a heap of snow again.  Now I just stroll, or occasionally make a snowman out of the snow and nothing more and I haven't had a snow injury since.   

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