It was night, the snow was up to the windows and it was still coming on—a dark world shot with white flecks dancing and swirling. The whole thing seemed completely impossible. But it was happening and there was nothing to do but wait it out.
We had no milk, but there was water and a small supply of tea and coffee. There was flour, too, and we made bread ... bread without yeast or salt. It tasted terrible, but we ate it and laughed about it. I read or played cribbage with the boys. They played with their fishing reels, oiled them, took them apart, put them back together, took them apart again. We waited.
The morning the snow stopped we were greeted by bright sunlight hot on the window panes. Everyone jumped up and down and yelled, “Yay!”
But how to get out of the house? We were snowed in completely.
About noon, Ervin called. The lines were fixed and Bill Lloma was working like crazy with his tractor opening the Bark Bay Road. Everyone had been alerted to our plight and help would be on the way.
Several more hours passed. We were without food or fuel, and I still hated the idea of chopping up that dresser. Then all at once our savior was in sight: Ervin in his truck, way down the main road and still unable to get anywhere near our driveway.
There was no restraining the children in their excitement. The yelling and shouting was enough to waken the dead. I found myself laughing and yelling, too, and waving madly to Ervin. We were all behaving as though we were going to a picnic instead of getting out of a frightful jam.
Finally Bill came lumbering up the road with his snow plow and in fifteen minutes cut a huge pathway to the house. We came out and danced around Ervin’s truck as it backed slowly into the driveway.
“Where’s your car?” Ervin asked.
We had to look around—it was completely buried. I had even forgotten I had it. Working together, we cleared the snow away. I tried starting the motor, but nothing happened. Ervin attached a chain to the car and pulled it up the road. This time the motor turned over, but so suddenly (and my reflexes were so slow) that, before I knew it, the car had swerved off the wet road into a ditch. I was fit to be tied.