I would like to try to show you what my blizzard world was like. Although I struggle at creating emotions in writing, I do like to tell stories. The following are some snippets of stories and images that were taken during the blizzard in Duluth at the end of November.
Friday Morning: Yesterday was Thanksgiving. I woke up this morning at grandma and grandpa’s house. The forecasters have been making it sound like this storm will be a big deal. Bull shit. They always do that. I don’t get my hopes up about blizzards, because if there were as many blizzards as are predicted, I would have moved in with the abominable snowman years ago. Even though I’m not convinced about the blizzard and snowfall predictions, I do realize that even a small amount of ice on the roads can be bad. I don’t want to be driving through that, so I will head back to Duluth today, and hopefully get there before it’s dark.
Friday Evening: I am driving to Duluth. There aren’t a ton of people on the roads, but the world feels urgent like there is something on the horizon that we can’t quite see yet. It’s dark, and I am nearly blinded by the oncoming traffic every time another car goes by in the opposite direction. The snow was supposed to start a while ago, but there’s nothing. Not surprised, but not arguing until I get to my sister’s house.
Friday Night: Laying in bed. Can’t sleep. Checking the window for snow. Not much happening tonight.
Saturday Morning: I lay in my bed and debate if I should look out the window. I really want the world to be covered in snow. I checked. There’s maybe 4 inches. Cool storm guys.
Saturday afternoon: It is apparent from the forecasts that the storm is going to start soon. Last night was a wing of the cyclone that found us before the bulk of the low-pressure system.
I walked to the lake in the late morning because it is small-business Saturday, and the wind is building some impressive waves on the lake. I bought snowshoes from a second-hand store. I am hopeful about using them tomorrow.
I am trying to start a ski program, and DJ is going to give me a bunch of skis, so I drove to his house. I was almost too late–there is already an extra 3 inches of snow on the ground, and some drifts are more than a foot deep. That’s a lot for my Prius to handle, but I go for it anyway. I get the skis and barely make it back to the block at my sister’s house, punching through the drifts as I go. I can only see forward about 200 feet through the blowing snow, and can’t see out my back window at all. The sides of my car are plastered with snow and ice.
Saturday Night: Still can’t sleep. This time though, it’s because I hear snowmobiles driving through the streets. The wind is howling through the houses like a mournful loon looking for its partner. I stay up reading my book for a while, and then settle down and eventually drift off.
Sunday Morning:
Time stopped.
I get up and go outside. I wade through snow as deep as my thighs in the middle of the street to get to my car. I can walk without worrying about looking around. I am the first person to cross the street. I identify the pile of snow that my car has become, laugh, and then brush the snow off the trunk so I can get a pair of skis.
The world has become like a post-apocalyptic heaven. The neighbors are all out. People are in high spirits because nobody in this neighborhood can get anywhere. No work, nowhere to go, nothing to do but walk around, explore, and shovel.
I pull out a pair of skis and ski through the streets. Zach and I go to investigate the waves again. It was very windy last night. The northeast wind takes no prisoners. The lake walk is destroyed once again. This is the 3rd winter in a row. How many years did I use the lake walk as a child without it changing? Now it is an annual event. Silly that people deny the instability of climate when there are weather patterns like this that are impacting the direction of their tax dollars, the success of their crops, the length of their commutes, and their safety.
The power of the lake is astonishing. Waves tumble over the jetty as easily as a car drives over a speed bump. Underestimating Gitchee Gumee today is a fatal mistake. Boulders the size of my head have been tossed more than 50 feet from their original resting places. Parking lots are flooded. The Ice House stands watch as it has for years, with its peg leg holding out for yet another storm.
Sunday Afternoon: There are packed walking and skiing paths developing on all the roads not yet plowed. That is every road except for 9th street and 10th avenue. People say hi as they pass by on skis and snowshoes. I encounter three nurses walking to work because there is no other way to get anywhere. These little encounters are special. I have conversations with people I will not see until the next blizzard. It brings me joy that so many people are happy to be out walking and exploring this new world.
I am hopeful that the plows will be here soon. I want to be able to get to my home in Hinckley tonight. I know most of the roads are in tough shape, but the peace of my own house and comforts is calling.
Monday Morning: I had to call the school for a sub today. I am completely at the mercy of the city plow service. I am reminded of the snap from the Avengers. In one moment, half of the city has lost their ability to travel anywhere except for on foot. I write sub plans and grade assignments until I am crazy from sitting inside. Then I grab my snowshoes and go to the heaven waiting outside my door.
The woods have a special kind of quiet. The woods covered with a thick blanket of snow, coupled with the absence of anybody not living in the immediate vicinity, makes a silence more complete than anything I have heard before. I keep walking through the sparkly snow just to make some sounds with my snowshoes. It is a subtle sound, something that blends in well with the occasional rustle of snow falling off a precarious branch. I sink in about 4 inches with each step, until my snowshoe came off. I fell up to my waist in the snow when my boot met the snow with only its own surface area to resist my weight.
Tuesday Morning: It is dark. I snowshoe to the nearest road to get picked up by a co-worker who had better snow moving tools than I do. We drive through the shitty narrow roads, pulling into parking spaces to let people drive by in the one-lane arteries of Duluth. The city is making a valiant effort to catch up to the snow, but I am done waiting. I have left my keys with my sister so she can move the car across the street when the street gets plowed. I am not going back until she calls me with good news.
Now I wait.
For the first time in my life, I have experienced a saturating exhaustion and fear at the hands of a blizzard. Trying to live in multiple cities doesn’t work too well when you get trapped in one. Even so, make sure to get out and play in the snow! After all, what else can you do on a day like this?
