It is amazing what effect three simple words can cause. People’s eyes become wide. The animal instinct of fight or flight arises in even the most grounded, and the call for action is heard throughout the land. At the mere utterance of WINTER STORM WARNING, residents of Indiana turn into a bunch of frenzied critters, as if someone has spread feeding pellets on the surface of a catfish pond.
I was raised in northern Michigan where 150 inches of snow was considered a mild winter and grew up loving that white stuff falling from the sky. That signaled a season of endless fun found on ski slopes, toboggan runs, snowmobile trails, and frozen lakes. I learned to drive on snow-covered pavement and used the tall snowbanks along the road as a bumper cushion in case I slid off the roadway. Drift busting was something I did on a lazy afternoon.
My first introduction to this Hoosier reaction to snow occurred the night of my wedding. I was married in northern Michigan in November. It had begun to snow beautiful peaceful flakes as we exited the church. I was thrilled for I felt it was a good omen to have the first snow on my wedding day. We had been at the reception for a short time, when I noticed the visitors that had traveled north from Indiana were leaving “en masse.” Had I said something to offend them? My new husband saw the puzzled look on my face and said, “It’s snowing!” I thought he was joking but soon realized there was a hint of panic in his voice.
“But it’s only going to snow two or three inches?” I explained.
Then my husband looked at me and said, “I will take you away from this.” Somehow moving to Indiana would save me from this horrible fate.
It took fourteen months for Mother Nature to prove him wrong.
Flash forward to January 25, 1978. It was working at Caylor Nickel Clinic and living east of Bluffton. I had stayed at work as people bailed to go home or the grocery store. I wasn’t worried for I had driven twelve years without ever not arriving at my destination, even in the wild winters of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I scoffed at the panic that the thought of snow seemed to conjure up. Mother Nature had a lesson for me to learn.
As I turned onto 124 headed east, I noticed the westerly wind was not giving the new fallen snow any peace, causing visibility to lessen by the minute. I turned on my radio to hear of multiple closings and warnings. I smiled to think how silly.
As I turned south on 500 W in Adams County, the white-out conditions caused the road to disappear. My father’s words came to mind. “If you are driving in a white-out, slow down and follow the tracks in front of you.” I spotted a trail in front of me. I followed. Unfortunately, the tracks were caused by a car that had been recently pulled out of the ditch. I found myself at a 45-degree angle in the east side ditch. I could not open the driver’s side door, so I climbed out the other side.
I realized in my haste to get to work that morning, I had forgotten my hat and gloves. I wore a light fabric uniform but luckily, I had snow boots on. I searched and found a pair of socks to use as gloves, and I tied an extra pair of pants around my head to cover my ears and mouth. This was the days before cell phones, or I would have called my husband to come and get me. But after all, it was only a half of mile to get to my home.
As I trudged through the snowdrifts, I noticed the cold take hold of my limbs. It took every effort to make them move forward. I just wanted to lie down and rest, to get reprieve from unending wind and cold. Again, I heard my Dad say, “Never lie down. You won’t get up!”
When I reached my backdoor, I pounded with my clenched hand. I could not straighten my fingers. As my husband opened the door to what probably looked a lot like a yeti, I muttered.
“Get me warm!”
My fingertips, nose, and ears had small patches of white on them, so I knew not to soak in hot water but room temperature water to gradually warm my skin. As I slowly began to warm, I realized just how close I had come to being a statistic of the Blizzard of 78.
The next day found our landlord shoveling out our doors as the snow had packed both openings totally shut. I was thrilled to go to the basement and get out my cross-country skis that my husband said I’d never need. I marveled at the large drifts on the road I had traveled the night before. I strapped on my skis and took off to see our neighbors. I remember the look on my neighbor’s face as I slid down the hill in front of her kitchen window. Only after I had done so, did I realize it wasn’t a hill, but their garage covered with snow.
It took a week before travel was somewhat normal. I learned that Indiana did not have the equipment to deal with snowfalls over a few inches and drivers had very little experience with driving in snow. No drift busters among them.
I also experienced what Hoosier hospitality was all about. Our refrigerator was nearly empty, and our neighbors extended an invitation to share meals with them for several days until we could get to the grocery store. The first invitation was met with fear as I was taught that a person brought something to share with the hosts. I opened the refrigerator and a head of cabbage stared at me. That’s it. I searched the cabinets and found a can of pineapple chunks and a half bag of miniature marshmallows. I combined the shredded cabbage, pineapple, and mayo in a casserole dish. Topped it with marshmallows and toasted the sweet topping in the oven. I named it Blizzard Salad. My neighbors either loved it or just took pity on this newly wed but asked me for the recipe. From time to time, I still prepare it.
Here’s the Thing: Today when a Winter Storm Warning is issued, I take notice and remember that lesson Mother Nature taught me so many years ago. When in a new environment look to the natives for information on how to deal with your surroundings. Never assume you know better. And yes, I head for the grocery when the warnings are issued, making sure I get that head of cabbage.
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Editor’s Note: This is one of a series of articles written by a group of retired and current teachers — LaNae Abnet, Ken Ballinger, Billy Kreigh, Kathy Schwartz, and Anna Spalding. Their intent is to spur discussions at the dinner table and elsewhere. You may also voice your thoughts and reactions via The News-Banner’s letters to editor.
