Buried in a White Blanket

The power went out two days ago, and the snow had yet to stop. Every attempt to shovel was met with nature laughing at us, covering our path with a pure white blanket almost immediately. The daily need to bundle up as we replenished the firewood, our only source of heat. There was a unique quietness outside. All the animals had taken shelter in hopes of seeing that big ball of fire in the sky soon, and the wind had gone to play with other trees. The world was still and serene.

Snowed in our neighborhood with no access to the outside world. We had to get all our activities completed during the day, going back to a time without electricity. Stay outside long enough, and you might hear a distant generator, someone needing to refill their water storage. Run it too long, and you will have no gas left to use the generator. Our own secluded island right in the middle of a landlocked state.

One day, we heard a different noise, voices that weren’t from the three people I had been in this house with. Out of the wooden door, onto the covered porch, we saw figures walking down the street. The snow was still so thick that we couldn’t make out who. Excitement filled the air as the pair ascended to our porch for respite from the blowing snow.

The hugs and conversations began to flow. All of us sharing our war stories from the past several days. One of them described how their freezer was thawing and there were about to lose a 20-pound turkey they had been keeping. We all started laughing and pondering how to save it.

“Put it in the snow,” my brother suggested.

While we all began to think if that was a valid solution, my dad chimed in, “We have plenty of propane. We could grill it.” The group let out a few chuckles, but then silence fell as everyone started to think about the possibility of us grilling a turkey during the largest snowstorm in years.

My dad started to explain, “if you are going to lose it either way, we might as well try.”

Once we were all on board for trying this, my mom, dad, brother, and I geared up with our snowshoes and a sled to make our way to bring to turkey to its new home. The walk felt like a trek across a foreign land. There used to be a house there, and to my right, but with the whiteout, it had all disappeared.

After our half-mile walk through snow that could bury me 1.5 times, we made it. We stayed and visited for a while, digging through the snow to make a cave, warming up with hot chocolate, and forming a plan on when to cook this bird. After some much-needed human interaction, we strapped the turkey into the sled and began the journey back home. We took turns pulling the sled, and once we reached the hill up to our house, everyone chipped in. My brother and I pushed from behind while my parents pulled. We stopped halfway up to take a break, and shortly after, we made the final push home.

Once home, my dad brought the turkey up onto the porch. We made a snow bed for it next to the grill in hopes of keeping it cool, but let it continue to thaw. Tomorrow was the day. Exhausted and with daylight fading, we ventured inside and got ready for bed. Before we all went to bed, we decided to play an intense game of Uno by headlamp. The interaction with other people improved our mood; no big fights broke out during the game.

As I opened my eyes after a restful night, the room looked lighter. Still in a sleepy daze I opened my blinds, the snow had slowed, the sky a lighter shade of grey and making an appearance for the first time a round ball of light was trying to peep through.

I descended the stairs with newfound energy, hoping the power was back on. As I rounded the corner, I saw my mom boiling water for coffee, and a flood of disappointment hit me like a train. There was still no power. My brother was already eating his oatmeal and donned a huge smile. “Since the snow is stopping, let's go sledding.”

I smiled back, grabbing my bowl of food, “Okay," I said.

After we finished eating and with the few chores we were able to do without power, we threw on our snow gear and made our way to the hill behind the house. We were having so much fun, our mom had to call out, telling us to come inside and warm up for a bit. Almost to the stairs, my snow boot got stuck. I tried to lift it out with more force, only to have my foot slip out of the warm boot now dangling in the air. I called for my dad to come help me as I balanced on one foot, hoping my bare foot wouldn’t kiss the snow.

My dad came to my rescue, put me on his back to get me inside, and then went back out to dig out my boot. We all smiled about my misfortune, and as we were warming up, the few neighbors arrived for our turkey dinner. The turkey had been on the grill since the morning. None of us knew how long it would take to cook, and we still were unable to look it up. One of our neighbors found stuff in their fridge to make a salad, and the other brought cookies to add to the meal.

When the turkey came off, the dark house smelled like Thanksgiving. My dad began to carve the bird, and we all made a plate. Right as we were sitting down, the lights beeped back on. Mixed with joy, there was a sense of disappointment; we had put this work into preparing this meal without modern luxuries. We elected to eat by candlelight. Promptly after dinner, we turned the lights back on and celebrated that the worst was over. In the worst storm to hit our mountains in years, we chose to come together rather than turn on each other. The next day a front loader dug through the snow setting us free.