Winters in northwestern Ohio are less terrible than some folks claim. Yes, some days are cold and dreary, others sunny and colder, sometimes chilling the thermometer to less than zero. There are usually three or four snowfalls that seldom exceed six inches in depth so that one must shovel it out of the way, or that blesses parents with the presence of their children at home because the school bus doesn’t run. Of course the children don’t mind: a day off from school, a chance to play in the snow.

Visualize this scene: The night has been cold and crisp. A super cooled mist wafted through on a gentle breeze and sunrise is at hand. A thin cloud cover blocks the view of the rising sun but presents a bright gray sky. The world has a ghostly appearance. Frost covers everything in sight. This is no ordinary frost. This is hoarfrost, the kind that is built of billions of tiny icicles that cling to every naked branch and twig in the slumbering woods beside the road. The thin clouds dissipate as the sun climbs into the sky. Slivers of sunlight filter through the trees transforming the ghostly forest into a brilliant display of all the world’s diamonds that emit a myriad of colors through tiny prisms. What can be more spectacular?

On a different day, one not so cold, imagine a wet snow falling. Big flakes adhere to branches of the trees and catch other flakes as they plummet downward and lay white ribbons of icing on every dark colored branch. There may be virtually no snow under a tall tree that captures nearly all the snow shower. Evergreen trees don’t like this kind of snow, no matter its beauty. The weight can bring it drooping to the ground. Kids, on the other hand, love it. It’s the best kind for making snowballs, and yes, snowmen. 

Most days were ordinary days, some with snow on the ground and some without, some were dreary and others bright, nevertheless winter was one of my favorite seasons. Grass never needed mowing, nor were there weeds to chop. Outside noises were muted and fewer. The symphony orchestra performed concerts and the little theater put on plays. It seemed as if the community woke up after a long nap. I liked January especially because the Christmas rush was over and it was too early to worry about income tax.

My love for the season came to an abrupt halt in 1978, at least for a week or two. Mardelle and I retired for the night amid the sound of a blustery and whining wind. That continued throughout the night. I know because we were awakened numerous times by the whine and bluster, but little did I know how much snow was carried on that wind. We were up early to see what had happened during the night. As I expected, a drift or two covered the driveway and the frigid wind kept piling it higher. We had some breakfast and tried to relax, all the while wondering how long the snow would continue. We watched the storm through one window then another. The radio announced that most everything was closed for the day, and from what I could see it was no wonder. About mid-morning the electric power failed.

“I surely hope the power isn’t off very long,” said Mardelle, “this could be very bad.”

“You’re dag-gone right it could be,” I said. “Without electricity the furnace won’t work. The temperature is near zero and the wind is howling out there. We’re just not prepared for this. Blizzards are supposed to happen out on the northern plains, not here.”

“This is the first one I can remember.”

“Same here. I’ve lived here over thirty years and I’ve seen nothing like this,” I said, trying to defend my unpreparedness. 

I got out our camp stove and she heated some lunch and coffee for us. The house seemed cooler by this time and we put on sweaters. The wind and snow persisted, ever deepening the drifts and even moving some of them to new locations. The house got cooler and forced us to don more clothing as the power outage continued. Even as my feet got colder I was glad for one thing; I had put an extra layer of insulation over the ceiling.

By late afternoon the temperature had dropped to fifty degrees and we were beginning to think that we would have to get in bed in the dark with our clothes on to keep warm. Then something wonderful happened; the furnace turned on. It took a long time, or so it seemed, to restore the house to normal temperature. Maybe it was luck or maybe it was providence, but we had dodged the bullet. The storm raged on through the night but the electricity kept flowing and we woke to a warm house. There seemed to be no new snow but we had aplenty that was being whipped around by a persistent wind.

I screwed up my courage, bundled up and ventured out doors in the biting wind to see what I could see. Snow was piled against the back door, so I chose the front, which was protected by a porch. There was no place to go without wading through waist-deep drifts. I went back in with the intent of getting a snow shovel from the attached garage to clear off the porch. I was surprised to find that the garage was filled with snow, at least to the tops of two cars parked inside. The garage door lacked an inch of closing to the floor, letting in the snowdrift. I was able to retrieve a shovel and cleared the porch of snow so that I could to get a clear view of the road. The windswept road was fairly clear except for some three- and four-foot drifts blocking passage. There was no use fretting about the drifts so long as the wind blew in shifting directions; the drifts would move too.

Strong winds continued for yet another day shuffling the drifts, reshaping and building some even deeper. Road crews worked through the night attempting to open the roads, but in a short time drifts closed them again. The wind did finally settle down so that some roads were cleared for traffic. It was a wonderful sight to see an enterprising man with a snow blade on his truck soliciting business in our neighborhood. I was inspired to shovel the snow out of my garage from between our cars and was glad to pay whatever the snow mover guy asked to clear my driveway. It was mighty good to be free to be able to get out of our prison after three or four days. Even so, it was more than a week later before the ten-foot drifts throughout the county were defeated.

Spring came pretty much on schedule, clearing most of the land of snow, but many piles just lay there not noticing that it was spring until they finally succumbed to the radiance of the sun. When I think back to the blizzard of ’78 I thank God for men who are willing to brave storms at their own peril, especially the electricians.