Reflections on the Eighth Week of Fall – C-C-Coping with the First Winter Storm

Grasses in Snow

The fall parade of all-black woolly bear caterpillars didn’t prepare me.

The week of ten degree below normal temperatures didn’t prepare me.

Even our kitten’s antics observing their first snowflakes didn’t prepare me. 

A week and a half ago, the kittens stared through the sliding glass door while snowflakes drifted from lumpy gray clouds and colored the deck bright white. Rills pointed his nose toward the offending clouds. Ande flicked his tail. Gilbert chittered and squeaked—his bug hunting vocalizations—then pounced on the glass.

Forecasts flooded the airways last Monday and finally prepared me.

Winter Storm Warning

 Monday 7 p.m. through Wednesday10 p.m.

Hazardous travel conditions.

Neighbors made sure I’d heard.

Kathy’s voice questioned through the phone. “Did ya hear we’re getting five inches?”

Dave sliced meat behind the deli counter at Millers. “We’re in for it. Hopefully it’ll melt, and we won’t see any snow until December.”

Leslie lamented in the Meadville Area Recreation Complex locker room. “My daughter wanted me to babysit tonight so she could go to parent teacher conferences.” She slipped her arms into the sleeves of a pullover sweater. “I hate to be a wuss.”

“Does she live in Meadville?” I pulled long underwear up my legs.

“No. Erie.” Leslie stuck her head into the sweater. “Highway driving after dark in a snowstorm isn’t safe—especially around Edinboro.” Her head popped out, and worry etched her face. “And it’s the first storm of the season. People will still drive summer fast. I’m going to cancel.”

Spence didn’t cancel his trip to volunteer for lead safe homes in Cleveland.

I peered through the sliding glass door at rain washing the deck and hoped he would get back to Wells Wood before freezing rain or snow started.

His 2:08 p.m. text shattered that hope. Cleveland radio predicting 12 inches.

Yikes! My fingers pounded the phone screen. Come home now!

Silence from Cleveland until a few minutes after six. At St. Augustine’s waiting for the block club.

I tempered my plea. Come home as soon as you can.

This time he answered in seconds. OK. No snow here. New forecast is 2 inches overnight. No worries.

Thanks. I feel better about your drive. I hugged all three kittens—one at a time—to celebrate.

Because his meeting ran late, I fell asleep before he got home. 

Tuesday morning, he tossed off three kittens and two afghans. “Snow made the roads slick.” Yawning, he booted his computer. “I drove forty-five miles per hour. At least there wasn’t much traffic.” 

I dreaded him making another slow, slippery trip to and from Cleveland. “Can you cancel today’s trip?”

He squinted at weather maps on his computer screen. “I’ll be driving into the teeth of their storm going to CLASH.” (Cleveland Lead Advocates for Safe Housing)

Gilbert climbed onto Spence’s shoulders.

Gilbert Watching Snow

Without taking his eyes off the screen, Spence petted the kitten. “And I’d be driving into the teeth of our storm coming home.” He set Gilbert on the floor and tapped computer keys. “I’m canceling the trip.”

Wind howled.

Snow piled.

Temperatures dropped to twenty degrees below normal.

I still drove to the rec complex for lap swim. Frozen slush speckled back roads, and an orange tire icon glowed on the dashboard. Low air pressure in the tires from the cold, no doubt. Maybe the twenty-eight-mile round trip would warm the air in the tires and shut off the indicator, I kept driving. The light didn’t turn off Tuesday. Not on Wednesday, and not on Thursday. 

When I told Spence about the indicator, he crouched beside the driver’s side front tire and stuck his air pressure gauge into a tube. Psst. Psst. Tire after tire he measured pressure. “You’re three pounds low in the front. Six pounds in the back.” He tucked the gauge into his padded vest pocket. “Drive me to Matt’s. I’ll put air in your tires.”

Neighbors had the same idea as Spence. Vehicles occupied every parking place at Matt’s auto shop. A sedan and a shiny new pickup parked parallel to Matt’s office door. Sucking in my stomach, I steered around them to the second bay. By the last bay, a cable connected a charger to the battery in a battered pickup with its hood open wide—like a patient ahhing for a doctor to check for a winter flu infection.

I stayed in the heated car while Spence wove through vehicles to find Matt and borrow the air pump. 

A minute later, the bay door opened. Matt strode to my car with coiled tubing in his arms. He crouched by the driver side tire. Psst. “Yeah. We’re busy today.” He moved to another tire. “People need their winter tires. Batteries died. All the things that come with the first deep cold.”

Matt’s words—all the things that come with the first deep cold—triggered images in my mind.

• Grasses and river willow branches bending with the weight of snow.
• A lone chickadee fluttering past the sliding glass door to scout for the bird feeder.
• Cabbage, broccoli, and beets wilting from stress under their cover cloth.

Nature coped with more grace to winter storms than us vehicle-dependent humans. 

The first winter storm ended leaving not five, not twelve, but three inches of snow.

Friday the snow melted and dripped from the roof. 

Gilbert strolled to the sliding glass door, sat on his haunches, and stared.

Handfuls of snow slid off the solar panels and, whoosh-plop, splattered on the deck.  

Ears flattened, Gilbert jumped back. His paws scratched floor tiles, and, lowering himself until his belly scraped the floor, he scampered under the coffee table.

I giggled, reached under the table, and gave him a reassuring pet. I’m prepared for avalanches of snow thundering off the solar panels and crashing onto the deck. 

Given time, Gilbert, a creature of nature—not a vehicle-dependent human, will c-c-cope with grace to the wonders winter storms bring.

Beets