The Connecticut blizzard of ‘78 was a doozy. I was a teenager at the time and remember certain events clearly. I recall several feet of drifted snow completely covering the front door of our home as we snuggled inside near Dad’s nice warm crackling wood stove. In towns across the state, countless cars were in fact deluged in snow similar to the photo above taken in downtown Hartford hours after that storm. In fact, several years later my VW Bug had been parked outside my Dad’s house during one particularly nasty snow storm. The very next morning my car was no longer visible short of a huge lump of snow in the driveway. At least I knew about where my car was anyway. Alas, I did not do any driving that particular day.
The event which follows is a personal account which arose from one of those many snow storms. It is a comforting memory which I like to recall on occasion:
No doubt everyone has a classic, oft-repeated childhood memory of winter adventures long since past. One of mine took place on the then empty lot which abutted the home in which I was raised. I was around eight years old, I think. It was the dead of winter. The dirt encrusted snow was piled high along the edge of the street after being carved away by the county snow plows. The air was bitter cold as whisks of wind stung mercilessly at exposed skin. Every exhaled breath was accentuated by clouds of warm water vapor which always proved visually entertaining for a brief few moments.
Me, my family, and friends bundled up deep inside every available stitch of winter apparel. Then we were off into the great unknown. This particular storm had just dumped several feet of snow on top of the previous several feet. In fact it was so cold that the surface layer had completely frozen over. It was penetrable only with significant puncture force. All available and willing kids in the neighborhood decided it was time to venture next door for a good sled ride. The property was breached by first traversing a series of tall pines which abruptly opened into a vast field of several acres. This particular pasture happened to slope down to its adjoining property at an angle of close to forty five degrees, I think. Steep! We were not strangers to this hill as it had been our playground for many years.
All in attendance walked across the snow and ice amalgamation with varied amounts of difficulty. Some of our steps would be supported by the ice, others would compromise the ice, causing it to fail. The entire length of our leg would disappear into the seemingly cavernous snow below. Knees and thighs would soon become sore due to constant scraping against these freshly created icy pits. You must understand, this was fun!
In short order we reached the edge of the slope where the angle dropped off suddenly and sharply. This was the perfect hill for sledding....on snow, anyway. You see, at the direct bottom of this one-hundred yard hill was an old, rust laden, barbed-wire fence. So long as you stopped the momentum of your particular sled of choice in time, you had no worries.
This part I remember clearly. As I peered down towards the bottom, there were an endless array of small bushes and twigs penetrating the surface. These did not get completely covered by snow and ice. One by one, we began the slide down. In case you didn't know, ice is particularly slippery at forty-five degrees. Once you commit and the upper ledge is breached, you place yourself at the mercy of gravity. At that time, sheer excitement overwhelmed rational decision making.
Down I went, faster and faster. I could see that fence in the distance. The razor sharp barbs get larger and larger with each passing second. My hands clutched at random twigs in an effort to reduce my speed. Some snapped off. Others held. I felt like a pinball traversing from bumper to bumper down towards my ultimate destination. Finally, I made it to the bottom safely. We all did. No problem.
Those were the good old days which will never be forgotten. Some might say that it's good to fear for your life now and again, at least when your young anyway. That was a fun day. One which obviously I will never forget.
Did I tell you about the time we drove our motorcycles up and down the slopes of our local ski resort? Probably shouldn't have done that either.
Jim
That sounds like a great day
Who can forget the Blizzard of '78? I was engaged (our wedding was the next month, in March) and my fiancé worked in Hartford. I was torn all through the afternoon and into the evening whether to drive into Hartford to rescue her or play it safe. I didn't drive in, she did make it home (after several hours) and we hunkered down until the state re-opened a couple of days later. Whenever we mention THE BLIZZARD, our kids still mock us. I guess it's one of those "you had to be there" occasions. Thanks for sharing.