Piled higher and deeper

I'd call it "heart attack" snow this morning cuz I've already done some serious shoveling. The white stuff piled up and up and up through the day yesterday and through the night time hours. Still, this morning, it continues to fall. They said this was the snow belt out here. They were right, but I don't think Selle Valley is unique this morning.

Surprisingly, the Bonner County kiddies have to go to school today, while the Boundary County kiddies get to stay home. I've already talked to my sister Laurie who's been up since 4 a.m. They've cleaned out their driveways with the snowblower, cleaned their barns, fed their 11 horses and have headed off to school.

I can remember days like this at school, and I remember them with disdain. We came close to killing ourselves in the morning hours to get there. In our case, we had a super long driveway that drifted shut with every breath of air that dared to blow in from the north or south.

Many times there was no way we were ever going to get our east-west driveway cleared until the wind stopped blowing and the snow quit falling. Whenever there was advanced warning, we parked our rigs out near the road the night before. I clearly remember many a morning of grumbling and hoofing it through those drifts, loaded down with books and bags full of school work.

Once at school, the public complaining would begin. First, we shared our wicked thoughts in the faculty room, wondering who on earth would ever send kids to school on days like these. It was worse in the classroom. All day long the whining continued.

"Why are we here?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think they're going to call school off early today?"

"I don't know." After an adequate period of total ignorance regarding potential school closure, I'd finally let loose with some pertinent information. "It's the lunches. You can't call school off until the lunches have been served."

We often blamed our unwelcome situation on the cooks. We knew they came early in the morning to get lunch ready, and the district certainly wouldn't want to waste all that government subsidy food. So, that lame excuse could at least temporarily dampen the hopes and shut the mouths of adolescent minds more focused on the possibilities of falling snow than on the possibilities of schoolwork.

After lunch, any time the intercom clicked on, we could count on instant silence. All noise halted. Ears listened as the announcer let loose with the information.

"Could we have a janitor please report to the girls' restroom?"

Immediate groans, and the letdown continued. In later years, janitors became custodians and the restroom summons took on euphemistic number codes in hopes that the entire school wouldn't know that someone had left a deer head or a feminine napkin in the toilet.

But everybody knew. And, yes, that did happen, only I believe the custodian was summoned to the boys john where that discovery of nature's outdoor lifelessness occurred. I think someone got in trouble for that deposit.

On most days that we felt should have been snow days, we stayed until the last bell rang. There were a few times that they dismissed us early---after lunch, of course. One time remains very distinctive to me.

That was the day that the wind was blowing about 50 miles an hour from out of the north. Our powdery drifts had grown to mammoth proportions. They were very soft. As I began scaling the first mound of many on my trip to the house, my legs sank clear to my torso. I tried a couple of steps, but to no avail.

Instead of lugging those heavy books and bags over hill and over dale, I literally rolled home. The books and bags rolled with me as I lay down and maneuvered my body round and round and round through the snow.

The books were pretty wet by the time I got to the house, but at least I arrived, and Bill didn't have to plow me out two weeks later when he finally broke through the drifts, which eventually turned to rock-hard cement. That may have been the same year when tourists made special trips down Great Northern Road just to see the Love drifts, which hid all signs of fenceposts.

Now that I think about it, life could be a lot worse than it is this morning. I could be fighting my way to school like my younger sisters. We could still have that driveway, and I could be telling lies about the poor cooks. Instead, I'll just count my blessings that I don't have to go to school ever again and that we have a short driveway well-protected from snow drifts by Meserve's huge trees.

Guess I'll go shovel some snow and admire the beauty of it all.