Daffodils and Green Bologna
It was April 12th. The daffodils had popped their heads up to greet the early spring. Seventy-degree sunshine had brought out dozens of gardeners with their six-pack Image may be NSFW.
Clik here to view.
containers of little tomato plants. Most had saved plastic milk containers to shelter the tender seedlings from any late spring frost. An updated weather forecast called for a chance of rain with a possibility of a few snowflakes for the afternoon.
By mid-morning the wet flakes were already rushing down Main Street, pushed by the north wind that bit into the face and brought tears sliding down cheeks. So much for the nice spring weather, Mr. Weatherman.
A quick dash from the office door to my car, forty feet away, left me cold and drenched. “How can this be?” I yelled at the disc jockey who came to life in my car. His radio chatter monitored his surprise too. The white stuff was sticking to everything in sight, like a can of Christmas snow sprayed thick on a thin window glass.
Halfway to the post office, I decided the mail would have to wait for another day. Snow was coming down heavily, rocketed by the Arctic-like wind to the point of near total whiteout. Oncoming cars appeared in my vision only seconds before they passed to my left. Center striping was impossible to see.
I’d been in Texas Panhandle blizzards before, but this one had come on so suddenly no one was prepared. Coats had been left at home. Gloves and mittens were long since stashed away and forgotten.
Back at the office, I stood shivering as I waited for Mr. Coffee to drip out a full pot of the hot black liquid. Drops of melted snow dripped from my hair.
An hour later, the first reports of the effects of the storm came in. The roof of the Revco Drug had collapsed under the weight of snow. A sixty-year-old man had suffered a heart attack while walking from a neighbor’s house one block away. Phone lines were down. The tiny Texas town was immobilized by the storm and muffled by the howling wind.
Thoughts of closing the office and sending my six employees home were too late. Already a drift had formed in the parking lot blocking all of our cars. Incredible! Thirty minutes ago that drift didn’t exist. Since each of us lived on the other side of town, it became evident we were stuck in the office.
At least we had heat, a couple of couches in the lobby, and a fridge full of a variety of brown bag delicacies in several stages of ripeness and mold. We had a television. We had a coffee table loaded with multiple volumes of Better Homes and Gardens and last year’s Newsweek. No Field and Stream and no Sports Illustrated.
“Not to worry,” I told the small group of female employees, “this can’t last, not in April.” I glanced at the calendar on the wall. One of the girls had turned it back to January.
At 1:23 in the afternoon the electricity went off, leaving the furnace inoperable. The coffee pot was quickly emptied. Without power, there would be no more. Two ladies tried to share a sweater. Teeth chattered. The blowing snow became no less intense, and a drift formed next to the door, trapping us in our newly formed igloo.
Green bologna for dinner and catnaps in a plastic chair never was my idea of an enchanted evening.
At 9:30 the next morning, the first snow plows worked their way down Main Street. I managed to force open the office door against the pressure of compacted snow. Under the porch in a brick planter, a cluster of seven daffodils peeped over a ten inch blanket of snow. How come they were so darn cheerful?
Eldon Reed ©2015
Enjoy the journey!
Eldon
