This morning as we looked out our bedroom window, Bruce and I saw that there was snow on Little Mountain, a bit off in the distance. And we saw, via the amazing internet, that Colorado had had its first snow overnight. So, in honor of the cold weather, I will tell you a the tale of a Wintry Adventure. And it's a true story, too:
On a cold winter day, several years ago (when I was thirteen or fourteen years old) I was in my very snug bedroom playing with my dollhouse, or maybe reading a book. I was content to be there by myself, with the door closed, quiet and very, very warm—because my bedroom was the warmest room in the house—it was hot in there! And so I was dressed appropriately for the weather...the weather in my bedroom, that is: I wore a pair of jeans cut off at the knee and fringed, and a red-and-blue plaid, cotton-gauze, sleeveless peasant blouse.
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| something like this |
My older sister, Melanie, was in her bathroom (her room was across the hall from mine, and had an adjoining bathroom). She was getting ready for her first date with Rick. We were a picture of homey contentment.
But just as Melanie was about to step into the shower someone banged on her door! It was Peter, our oldest brother. He worked a swing-shift at a medical supply company in Murray and he needed a ride to work. NOW!!
Melanie had thought that our brother Paul was going to drive Peter to work, but apparently she had been
grossly misinformed, and Peter was fuming at her door, needing a ride before he was made late for work. Now, Peter is a really, really nice guy, but his temper is not something you want to encounter. Ever. So Melanie scurried into the first piece of clothing she could find to cover herself up with—her beige wool dress-coat—slipped her feet into a pair of flip-flops and headed out to the car.
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her coat was something like this, only it was just past knee-length
—so cut eight to twelve inches from the hem of this coat and you've got it about right
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I don't remember if Melanie asked me to go with her, or if I was just in it for the adventure, but I slipped into a pair of shoes (no socks), grabbed my coat, and joined them. Now it was
cold outside. Cold, and wet, and gray. But we figured we'd be in the heated car the entire time; we'd drive Peter to work, come straight back, and get right back to what we'd been doing in our toasty warm home. No need to bundle up much.
The drive to Murray looked kind of like this:
And it was a little tense, because Peter was in a bad mood.
But Melanie and I relaxed as we chatted on the way back home. We came to an intersection where we could choose to continue straight and get home by making a turn later onto 6200 South—a well-used, well-plowed street, or we could turn off where we were and go home via the Airport Road—a street that was rarely used back then. Well, we decided it would be more fun and more interesting to drive down Airport Road.
So here we are, in my mom's little cream-colored Plymouth Horizon—which weighed about as much as a cardboard box—and we are confronted by a very slippery, very icy road, banked by fluffy snow, and it didn't take us long at all to realize we'd chosen the wrong way to drive home. The car started zigging and zagging all over the road; even though we weren't going fast, Melanie couldn't get control of it. The tension level was way back up, and maybe even past where it had been before.
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| This is what the car looked like. I took my driving test in this car; it really felt like it had no weight to it whatsoever. |
Now, back then there was
nothing on Airport Road except for ...I think it's the Utah National Guard's base and airport, which is fenced off, and locked, and for which you undoubtedly need permission to enter. So there's the airport, all fenced off and empty for miles, to our right, and to the left the road dropped off and met with snowy fields. And in slow-motion, the car starts spinning and sliding to the left side of the road. And we two teenage girls are yelling and Melanie's trying to get some control of the car, and it's all to no avail. Off the edge we dropped, still spinning, out into the field. And
then we stopped spinning, and started sliding back toward the road. And I saw the telephone poles behind us, and I just
knew we were going to run into one. (We didn't; didn't even get close.)
And then there we were. Two scantily-clad girls, in a tiny car, up to the fenders in snow. And what could we do? This was in the dark-ages before cell-phones, right? We prayed. We turned on the emergency lights and hoped that someone would see them flashing down there. But this was not a well-traveled road back then, we were several feet from the road, and twilight was well upon us. Finally we decided that we'd better hike over to the airport and hope beyond hope that some kind soul would let us in to use a phone.
So we gingerly step into the snow, freezing in our flip-flops and bare ankles, and start walking back toward the airport. Just as we got back to the road a minivan pulled over; it was filled with a Dad, a Mom, and a bunch of little kids. The dad asked us if we needed help. Now, we were not
totally stupid, and we realized that we were in a pretty compromising position, but the mom and the little kids (and probably some guidance from above) told us that these were nice people. They were. They let us get in their van and drove us to their house so we could use their phone.
Mrs. Minivan had dinner cooking at home, so she ushered the kids into the kitchen while Mr. Minivan showed us to the family room where there was a phone for our use, and where a nice fire was burning in the fireplace. Oh, that was a lovely, lovely room! Then he went up to have dinner with his family.
Melanie tried calling Dad, but he had already left work to pick up Mom from her workplace. She tried calling Mom, but just missed her. She called home, but Mom and Dad weren't home yet; they'd gone shopping. So she called the only other person she knew would be home, and whose number she knew: her date, Rick.
In the meantime, I was getting mighty warm in that fire-heated family room, with my coat on. Mr. Minivan came to see how we were faring at getting help. By then Rick was on his way, but, Melanie told Mr. Minivan, it would probably be half an hour before he showed up. He said that was all right. "Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable." So I took off my coat. He had been surprised at my cut-offs, and jokingly commented on my summery attire. Then he turned to Melanie and told her she could take her coat off too, if she was too warm. She said she was all right. Then, glancing at my clothes and then back to her, he teased, "What's the matter? Are you naked under that coat?"
Well, Melanie was mortified, and slightly offended, that he would say such a thing, but she kept those thoughts to herself; we both tee-heed politely at his joke. Rick showed up pretty soon in a little truck to drive us home. (I'm thinking I probably sat in the middle seat, although I don't really remember. Being young and naive I probably would have preferred Melanie to sit next to Rick.) We got home in time for dinner, and had a story to tell that freaked my mom out. Melanie got ready and went on her date with Rick. The next day my dad and my brothers were able to tow the Horizon out of the snow and get it home with—if I remember right—no damage. It all ended well—even Melanie's date; this was the first date of several, and they eventually got married.
And that is the end of my Winter Tale. Hopefully
this winter will wait another couple of months before it really shows itself around here. When it does, you can think of this story to keep yourself warm.
