I love this time of year and the panic that envelops the grocery stores when snow or ice is forecast. Sometimes even the mention of a snow flurry clears the bread shelves. In my growing up years I lived in Winston-Salem and we had some great snowfalls. One year it snowed every Wednesday until the first week in April. That year my birthday fell on Wednesday March 19, I remember making a large snowman with a hat and a red ribbon that day. I also remember sledding, and driving…yes, driving in the ice and snow. My dad wanted his girls to learn to drive in bad weather. He took us out for snow driving lessons, much to my mother’s chagrin. She held her breath at home until we returned.
I can still hear him, “Steer in the direction of your slide, don’t use the brakes, don’t panic, and you’ll come out of your slide.” If Daddy could make it over to my cousin’s house in Greensboro I spent the night and her brothers took us sledding. We even found a neat place to bury our cigarettes in Bandaid cans for future consumption.
I moved to South Carolina in 1974 with my late husband and our toddler daughter. In 1987, we moved to Walhalla, with two teenaged children. The Winter of ’88 I got to use my snow skills. We moved to an area of Walhalla with a wonderful hill for sledding, nicknamed, “WE-E-E-HAH HILL.” At the age of 40, I boarded a snow dish with the rest of the teenagers and hit the bottom of the hill with my hair flying. When the teenagers grew tired, they stood at the top of the hill shaking their heads at the only mother in the neighborhood playing in the snow.
It was great until the groceries ran out. Hungry and wet, six teenaged boys began to starve from the bottom of their toes. The snow had banked to 17 inches in the driveways of our neighborhood. Not only did these folks refuse to drive in the snow, they also refused to walk in it. It was going to be up to two families to get rations for the entire neighborhood. We collected grocery lists by making phone calls, but the next problem would be getting out of our subdivision with its steep, winding hills.
As I pulled on my snow boots, I heard the rumble of the only snow plow in the county. It looked as if it had been sitting in dry dock for thirty years, but it did the job as my husband and I followed the plow accompanied by another brave friend who came along to help fill the neighborhood pantries. Later, I was able to share with my dad how my North Carolina snow driving skills saved a starving neighborhood.
To my current neighbors, it’s time to stock up, I’ve retired from sliding through steep hills to purchase food. I heard some snow flurry rumors on the television, support your local grocer.