It’s an Arctic blast! Pull out the coats. Dig into that winter drawer and don your winter drawers, hat, and scarf. There’s just no denying it. One step outside early this morning and you’ll gasp as razor sharp gusts of cold air slices through your lungs. It’ll make you want to turn around and dive back under those warm bed covers.
The cold blanket of winter has finally arrived and settled down over our once toasty Zombie-filled town. It’s so cold you don’t even see any of those slow walkers walking around. That or the filming of the hit television show has ended for this season and everyone has left for warmer parts of the country. I don’t blame them. Baby, it’s cold outside.
The bitter cold brings memories of what my parents said echoing through my head. Let’s see if what they told me is the same as what your parents told you about how to prepare for winter’s coldest months. But let’s set the record straight about one of my Dad’s frequent comments about snow. No matter how many times he professed that he did, it’s impossible to walk to school in the snow, barefooted, and up hill both ways.
First up: Splitting wood for the fireplace. Splitting wood using a metal wedge and sledgehammer during a snowstorm will definitely keep you warm, but I wouldn’t recommend it as my first choice. Why didn’t we use an axe? Dad didn’t mind us four boys smashing fingers like grapes while holding metal wedges; he just didn’t want us chopping off our legs using an axe. After all, we had lots of fingers and thumbs, but only two legs.
Second: Cover your head. Dad said 90 percent of all body heat is lost if the head isn’t covered. Whenever it snowed back on Flamingo Street, my three brothers understood this and tried to help me. Anytime we were all outside clearing the driveway or sidewalk, they gladly removed my hat and dumped shovelfuls of snow on my head so it would no longer be uncovered.
Seems The Wife also grew up with a dad believing the same. One year he bought himself a Russian fur-lined hat with flaps before they ventured out to see the National Christmas Tree Lighting. The entire family donned their own hats, gloves and heavy coats.
Believing in the 90 percent theory and that Virginia surely couldn’t be as cold as Russia, Dad wore only a thin suit and his thick Russian hat. The line was long, the wait even longer. Even with flaps down, he soon was dancing around trying to keep warm. He finally gave in and the family left without seeing the tree. The lesson Dad said he learned? That 10 percent really makes a difference.
Third: Don’t let your feet get wet. Growing up on Flamingo, keeping one’s feet dry was difficult. Seems like one of us was always being thrown into Cripple Creek. Fortunately, during the winter it was much easier to keep feet dry.
Even though it didn’t snow that often, us four boys grew really fast. What does one have to do with the other? The expense of snow boots for us four was hard for Dad to justify. How did he keep our feet dry? Trash bags, of course. Black trash bags taped around tennis shoes wasn’t much of a fashion statement, but they certainly kept our feet dry.
Fourth: Wear layers. This warm advice came from Mom. At the first sighting of snowflakes, the layering began. She took 30 minutes to dress each of us in two pairs of underwear, shirts, pants, and socks. We only wore one pair of gloves, and Dad wrapped small plastic bags around them and sealed them with duct tape. Once outside, us four boys and The Sister were indeed a funny sight to see, but we were some of the warmest kids playing in the snow.
To some, my parents’ snow preparation might have seemed a bit extreme. That was until you saw how they prepared for ice storms. Down here in the South, a sighting of ice bouncing off the back porch or collecting on limbs will cause a run on the grocery stores that cleans out all milk and bread.
Why, I really don’t know, but if ice fell from the sky over Flamingo, Mom loaded us up in the avocado green station wagon with the faux wood panels heading to the store. Once back home, we were told to stay inside. Ice storms are dangerous for all. An inch of snow shuts this town down for two days. An inch or two of ice can paralyze this town for a week, businesses close, schools are shut down, and the Governor calls out the National Guard for assistance.
Ice storms were no fun for us kids either. Trust me, trying to steer a sleigh while speeding uncontrollably down an ice-covered street isn’t as fun as it sounds. And hanging on for dear life to a metal trashcan lid, aka “the disk of death,” as it is launched into the air just before crashing through Old Mrs. Crabtree’s window isn’t fun either. It took only once for us four boys to understand that.
Okay, it took a couple of times crashing into bushes, bouncing off trees, and toppling her mailbox until we finally understood: snow was fun but ice was just dangerous. The only exception was slipping both down your brother’s pants.
Lastly, at the first sign of snow or ice, Dad had us out chopping and splitting wood. He said burning wood if the power went out would be the only way for us to keep warm. I told him another way to keep warm would be for us just to stay inside and not be outside splitting wood. Or we could just split it during the summer when it isn’t so cold.
And that’s how you find yourself the only one of four brothers outside splitting wood in a snowstorm.
[Rick Ryckeley has been writing stories since 2001. To read more of Rick’s stories, visit his blog: storiesbyrick.wordpress.com.]
