Surviving a Light Snowfall in Texas

I woke up to a strange brightness filling the room. Looking out of the bedroom window, I saw a thick covering of white over the fields and the fences. The snow was still falling. I swung out of bed and immediately became aware of the cold. I’ve lived in the country long enough to check whether the power is out. I flicked the light switch. Nothing happened.

So, no power, therefore no heating and no way to cook or boil water. I went to the bathroom and then felt that sinking feeling when the toilet flushes but the tank doesn’t refill. No cold water. The pipes must have frozen overnight. I said a few choice words out loud. Usually, I’m aware of the weather forecast, and I’m better prepared. This time, I’d have to check what resources I had.

Fortunately, my wardrobe contains lots of warm clothes. I haven’t always lived in Texas – Canada required plenty of layers of clothing, and I hadn’t thrown much away. I still had the waterproof woolen gloves I used for skiing, padded ski pants, a woolen beanie and a winter jacket.

I had stocked up on bottled water in fall, but I hadn’t gone to panic buy more. Four gallons of water for bathing, drinking, and flushing toilets. The very thought made my system demand to urinate again, but I ignored it. Priority must go to drinking, then washing, then flushing. No other cleaning until the pipes thaw. I had a large amount of snow right outside the door, and a five-gallon plastic bucket to fetch it in.

I had a fireplace in the living room, and two fire lighters. Which would have been great if I had plenty of wood. All I had by way of fuel were six fire logs. The packaging claimed they would burn for three hours each, but I knew from experience it would be much closer to two hours. Fine if I was only snowed in without power for thirty-six hours, but if it was longer than that, I’d need to get more fuel. There were plenty of old carboard boxes in the garage, but those burn very fast, and I risked starting a chimney fire.

My cellphone was working, but how would I keep it charged? I didn’t plan to use it except in emergencies, but it was my only connection to the outside world. The only thing I could think of was running the car and charging the phone in it. A look out at the driveway proved that I couldn’t get to the road, much less make it to the gas station five miles away. So the car would just be my official warming and recharging station.

No electricity meant no computer and no internet (except for patchy cellphone service). I called in to work and announced I wouldn’t be in until after the thaw, and I couldn’t do any work. They could call or text me if they needed questions answered. Probably the rest of the staff wouldn’t be there today, but most of them lived in the city and likely still had power and connectivity.

Food was my next issue. I could eat anything that would be OK cold. Frozen dinners wouldn’t work. There was some juice and some milk in the fridge. Ironically, I would have to keep the fridge door closed as much as possible to preserve the cold environment. Granola bars, bread for sandwiches, pâté, cold cuts. I kept on thinking of things and then realizing I’d need a toaster or microwave. Most importantly, I couldn’t have coffee. My working life revolved around coffee. A huge latte in the morning, instant coffee in the afternoon and evening. Coffee to wake me up, coffee to relax me so I could get to sleep. None of these was on the cards today.

Finally, there was amusement. The cellphone battery was too valuable to use as a source of entertainment. I could read books and write the old fashion way using pen and paper (although by the 21st century, that seemed like using stylus and clay). However, I would need light. The day was bright now so I could see well. Once the sun set (around 6:00 p.m.) I would need artificial light for everything. There were half a dozen candles and a couple of camping lights, but reading by those would probably result in eyestrain. I put all of these in key parts of the house where I could easily find them in the dark.

First things first. I had to bring in enough snow to flush toilets. Luckily, there were two toilets in the house, so I had one more flush available now. I could use one just for urine and keep using it without flushing. I put on plenty of warm clothes and gloves and went out to collect snow. As soon as my feet hit the pathway, they slid out from under me, and I landed gracelessly on my coccyx. Painfully I rolled over onto my hands and knees. The snow was about two inches deep, and part of it had turned to ice. I hadn’t brought a scoop with me, so I pushed snow into the bucket with my gloved hands. It took about twenty minutes to half-fill the bucket, then, treading very carefully, I took it into the bathroom and tipped the snow into the cistern tank. At this point, I didn’t know how much snow was needed to fill the cistern with water.

The house was not well insulated, and I was now very cold and damp. I took off the outer clothing and spread it out to dry, then put on a warm hooded housecoat and wrapped myself in the comforter on the bed. I was now warm enough to read a book for half an hour or so.

When I took a break from reading, I went to examine the water level in the toilet cistern. About half the snow had melted, and it was apparent that melted snow took up about a tenth the space of fresh snow. That meant I was looking at refilling the bucket nine more times for a flush. An all-day task. I put my damp cold outerwear on again and headed back outside, armed with a ladle and a saucepan for improved snow collection speed. For the next hour or so, I gathered snow and dumped it in the bathtub. Once I was thoroughly frozen, I opened the garage door to avoid carbon monoxide buildup. I changed into dry clothes and started the car. With the heating on full, I spread the wet clothes on the seats, put the phone on charge, and sat in the driver’s seat. I read some more, revving the engine often so that I didn’t drain the battery. I started to mentally compose a letter from the war zone. “My dearest Patricia, the weather is bitter cold, but we are in good spirits. I fear our rations will not last the week, and so I pray for deliverance…”

The rest of the day passed in the same way. I took a lunch break, eating pâté on crackers and drinking a small orange juice and a glass of water (no ice, thank you very much). I had planned on a huge dinner of cold cut sandwiches with lettuce and tomato, and a glass of red wine to make it festive. By now the novelty of my situation had worn off. Not a single car had gone past on the county road. I didn’t expect to be able to get to a coffee shop for at least two more days. It was time for desperate measures.

By the time the sky started to darken, I had a quarter-full bathtub. I was hoping to be able to flush toilets two or even three times. Before losing the light altogether, I started an artificial log fire in the fireplace. I lit a candle in the doorway between the living room and the bathroom. Then I put my survivalist plan into action. Using first wipes, then the compromised water from the bathtub, then a little of my precious drinking water, I washed out an empty can from the trash. I took three wire coat hangers from the bedroom and sat in front of the fire, constructing a feeble spit. After a few false starts, this was stable enough to support a can full of water over the fire. I put small amounts of cardboard onto the fire to make it burn higher and hotter. Excited, I put instant coffee powder into a mug. Using barbecue tongs and oven gloves, I carefully removed the can of boiling water and poured it into the mug. Adding a small amount of milk from the fridge, I settled down in front of the fire, wrapped in my warm housecoat and comforter. And took my first glorious sip of hot coffee. Life was worth living after all.