High winds, bitter cold, and swirling snow greeted us that morning as we stepped out the back door and began the walk to the bus stop at the end of our long driveway.
It was clear the walk was going to be rough. The high winds made it hard to keep our footing.
We could tell there was a lot of snow in the driveway from the house. But our house and Nellie’s were side by side, so it wasn’t until we rounded her house that we got the full effect of it.
The driveway was bordered on either side by wire farm fencing. It was full of snow to the tops of the fence posts, captured there by the fences themselves.
The snow depth was almost as high as I was tall at eight years old.
In sharp contrast, the fields on either side of the lane were windswept.
To get to the bus stop, we had to climb up on top of the snow which, thankfully, had an icy crust strong enough to support us without breaking through.
We could hear the wind as it skittered snow in waves across the frozen fields and the empty ribbon of highway.
We were FREEZING by the time we got to the bus stop, the wind in our faces all the way, tiny stinging projectiles of snow assaulting every bit of our exposed skin.
That’s when we noticed the storm had formed a snow cave in the ditch by the highway.
The cave was big enough for us to fit inside if we crouched down.
We ducked inside it and realized that it blocked most of the wind. It didn’t make it any warmer, but it was a relief to get out of the wind.
Monty was a foot taller than me. He was able to see over the tops of the drifts, so he positioned himself by the mouth of the cave so he could pop his head out occasionally and see if the bus was coming.
Missing the bus meant missing a day of school. And neither of us wanted to try to explain that to Mom.
After waiting about 15 minutes, the bus finally came.
I have sometimes wondered what the bus driver thought when he saw two children suddenly pop up out of the ditch as he approached. He wouldn’t have been able to see the snow cave because the opening was facing away from the road.
We scrambled onto the bus and were relieved to finally be inside where it was warm and out of the weather.
On returning from school that afternoon, the wind had calmed down some, but we still had that long walk home.
This time, we thought it might be easier walking through the field, so we jumped over the fence and walked home through the field.
Since there was no gate on the side of the field where it bordered our house, we had to climb the wire fence when we got home. That wasn’t easy to do with frozen hands and bulky snow boots.
The drive remained blocked for several days, so we had to repeat that walk to and from the bus daily.
It was hard for Dad, too. Since the driveway was blocked, he had to park the car by the highway and walk home. It might have been harder for him, though, because he had to walk to the car and home again in the dark.
After Mr. Parkinson, the farmer who farmed the ground for Nellie, dug his own long drive out, he finally was able to clear our driveway.
Many years have passed since then, and I have lived through a lot of harsh Illinois winters. But I have never seen another driveway fill completely to the tops of the fence posts or form a crust so hard we could walk on it without breaking through.
And I have certainly never waited for a school bus in a snow cave again.
Through My Eyes, Gently 