A Snowstorm to Remember

By Ardy Barclay

Why don't we embrace them (snow days) for exactly what they are; a rite of passage, a part of being Canadian. The snow day — it should be put on a stamp.

~Rick Mercer

It began as a typical January day. The grey skies were heavy with snow and a brisk northerly wind played havoc with the drifts in front of Valleyview School. I was in my first year of teaching and had no idea that this approaching snowstorm would change my life forever.

When gentle snow began falling the principal kept a careful eye on the brewing storm. It soon took on qualities of something more vicious. By mid-day he called the school buses back so the three hundred kids could get home safely before it was too late.

My students gathered their belongings. They were excited to be going home early. "Snow days" are not uncommon in the snowbelt region of southwestern Ontario. It's "the lake effect" from Lake Huron, we're told, which delivers more than our fair share of winter storms.

The buses arrived but the storm suddenly escalated before the waiting kids could board and it was quickly clear no one was going anywhere any time soon.

Snow fell relentlessly, whirling and whipping itself into treacherous whiteout conditions. Gusts of wind blasted the school windows with such a fury we feared they would shatter. Menacing snowdrifts wafted in silently under the doors.

By now the bus drivers and a couple of snowplow operators who'd been forced off the road were discussing the situation. There were over three hundred children, staff, bus and snowplow drivers barricaded inside the school.

As night approached and the storm showed no signs of abating, we realized we were prisoners until Mother Nature decided to release us from her grasp. None of us guessed it would be three days before the storm relented enough for us to finally go home.

We faced some basic questions. What would we feed several hundred children for dinner? Where would they sleep?

Earl, our school janitor, began working non-stop to keep the old groaning furnace running, but what if it quit? Concerned about the old pipes freezing, he wrapped them with whatever material he could find. With our hydro lines swaying under the increasing weight of ice and snow in heavy winds, what would we do if we lost power? A plan was definitely needed.

After every parent was called to reassure them their children were safe, a few silent prayers were said, and then people who lived close enough to brave the elements were called and asked if they could help. Soon, a handful of people had managed to wade through the heavy drifts and blinding snow bringing bags of sandwiches, tinned juices, blankets and a couple of board games.

One woman, who lived right on the edge of the school property, bundled herself up and trudged through the blinding snow with a huge kettle and enough ingredients to make tomato soup for at least half of the school. Those who didn't get soup feasted on peanut butter and jam sandwiches delivered by someone else. There wasn't a lot of food, but everything was shared, no one went hungry, and no one complained.

When night fell we worked out sleeping arrangements for the kids. Exhausted by the tensions of the day, most of them slept relatively well on the carpeted floors, drifting off to sleep under coats and donated blankets. I watched with a warm heart as three little first grade girls snuggled up under my own large, furry coat.

Some of the older girls acted like it was a huge pajama party, snuggling, giggling and telling stories as if nothing unusual was happening. Finally, they too gave in to sleep. It became an adventure; no one seemed homesick or even upset about having to stay at school overnight.

The next morning the treks down the long, cold hallway to the washrooms began early. On hall duty, I watched as two little boys in grade one walked down the corridor hand in hand. Jason turned to Jamie and said, "I wonder what we're having for breakfast?" Jamie, in wide-eyed innocence replied, "Eggs and bacon, of course. That's what I always have!"

Well, it wasn't eggs and bacon, but instead a piece of soft toast broiled in the school oven with half a cup of lukewarm cocoa. The bread had been retrieved from a stranded bread truck and delivered to the school by several young men on snowmobiles who were eager to help out however they could. With their parkas and helmets and all those hungry children to attend to, I didn't notice, but one of them noticed me as he trudged back and forth loaded with donations. My life was about to change.

Meanwhile, although the storm continued to bluster, it gradually began to diminish. As it did, some fathers began arriving on snowmobiles to collect their children. One man, well bundled against the elements, arrived on an open tractor pulling a small covered trailer to carry home his kids as well as every other kid that lived along his concession.

As the day progressed our numbers slowly dwindled. We kept those who remained busy playing basketball and volleyball in the gym, watching films or reading in the library.

On the morning of the third day we awoke to the sun shining in a clear blue sky. With the roads now plowed, the last of our students were soon safely on their way home, and all the staff breathed a sigh of relief. We had survived three days of the worst storm on record for our region in the past century. But what might have been a disaster had instead resulted in a strengthening of bonds — first between the community and our school, but especially between the teachers and students.

When the principal finally gave the teachers the "go ahead" to return home, I headed out to my car and went to start it. That's when I was approached by one of the snowmobilers who had delivered bread from the stranded bread truck.

He opened my passenger door, introduced himself as Bob, and asked me if I was planning to go somewhere.

"Home of course," I responded with a laugh.

"Well," he said, "after three days of sitting in a raging blizzard, your car is not likely going to start." Then he continued, saying that as he had been going in and out of our school bringing supplies, he had noticed me. He also admitted that by speaking with some of my co-workers he had learned I was "unattached."

I had to admit that because I had been so busy with my young charges I hadn't paid much attention. "Besides" I laughed, "most of the time your faces were totally covered with toques and helmets."

Undeterred by my initial indifference he asked me if I would go on a date with him sometime. Whether I was too exhausted to say no to his boldness, or whether there was a certain twinkle in his deep blue eyes, I really don't know. I accepted his offer, but it was June before we managed to go on that first date. When we finally did, we got along so well and shared so many common interests it seemed as if we'd known each other forever. Romance blossomed quickly. Soon we were engaged, and in November, less than five months later, we were married.

Throughout the years we have weathered many storms together, but that first storm was the one we both remember. Who could have guessed that the storm of a lifetime would have brought me the love of my life!

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