Standing outside, surrounded by towering trees butted shoulder to shoulder and blanketed in snow. I embrace the hushed silence. There is just something that reaches inside of me and squeezes like a gentle hug when I am outdoors in nature. In this moment, I savour the stillness, even though I am surrounded by people.
We are parked on the side of the highway in the Canadian Rocky Mountains. It’s February. The snow is deep, heavy, and wet. The mountain climate inviting with moderate temperatures of -3 degrees Celsius, and heaps of white, pristine, sparkling snow. One, in a never ending train of cars, we are waiting for the snowplows to clear the way. There was a heavy snowfall this week, therefore a planned avalanche. Traffic is blocked off for miles while an avalanche is triggered, then the roads cleared.
We could have missed this delay. We really tried to, but our wires got crossed with the time change; flat-landers in BC. Rather than showing up right behind the snowplough on clear roads, we show up right behind a stop sign. It will be a 4 hour wait, so we get comfortable.
From our seats in the van, we awkwardly wiggle and squirm into our snowsuits.
I plant my feet on the floor in the front seat, hoist my booty up, and I try to yank on my ski pants. My sweater is riding up and I tug it down, stuffing it into my snow pants. Straining against all the layers, I attempt to bend my knees and pull on my boots.
“Mom! I’m so hot!’’
Remembering I’m on a time constraint with two little kids in the back of the van already bundled up, I push open my door and swing my legs out. With one arm in my jacket, I open the sliding door of the van. I shrug my jacket on completely as two little boys bound out of the vehicle.
“Stay here, stay by the van,’’ I shout as I jerk down my neck warmer and mash my toque on. I hastily tuck my wild hair out of my face and grab my gloves. “Can you get the others ready?” I ask my husband as I wave and walk over to where our sons are inching closer to the road.
To the right of our vehicle is the edge of the mountain. Not a cliff, but a steep enough decline that if a curious 6 year old takes a misstep he will tumble and cartwheel for about half a mile. Broken bones, but not deadly.
With outstretched arm, I instinctively herd them to the left.
Since traffic is blocked for the avalanche there are no oncoming cars, other than the odd patrol vehicle and eventually the snowploughs. We look both ways and with my nod the boys race across the road. I look ahead and see vehicles lined up until they disappear around the corner of the mountain. Behind me is the same; car after car with wisps of exhaust floating behind.
“Help! Mom! Help me!”
I whip around and start jogging toward my son whose calling to me with a measure of panic in his muffled voice. I see him twenty feet or so away. He had climbed over the plowed ridge of the road and had attempted to play in the deep snow in the ditch. He’d started on his feet, but the snow was quickly up to his waist. He’d tried to compensate by crawling on his hands and knees, but the snow was too fresh and powdery to hold up even his little body. He was stuck. Arms and legs trapped, straining and arching his neck to keep his face out of the cold, wet snow.
I hear heavy footsteps behind me and realize my husband has already dressed and wrangled our 1 year old and 3 year old into their suits.
“Oh Tim! Help him,” I say as he hands off the toddler and jogs ahead.
Tim can only take a few steps before he’s up to his waist in the snow. He leans forward, his belly on the surface, grabs the back of our son’s jacket, and lifts him up out of the snow like a cat by the scruff of its neck. Together they both crawl out of the snowy snare.
“Oh my goodness, that was crazy,” I say with a smile. I pull off one mitt my with teeth, tuck it between my legs, and wipe the snow off of his face with my warm hand, one arm still holding a toddler on my hip. “Let’s make sure we stay with mom and dad now.”
He nodded his head emphatically. I knew I wouldn’t have to remind him of it again from the look at relief on his face.
I felt fingers of anxiety clawing at me then,
as I try not to imagine what would have happened had he jumped heavily into that powdery snow which was deeper than his 5 year old stature. The resistant load of snow squeezes and presses around you almost like water, but it takes so much more energy to wade through it. Or maybe it’s more like quicksand; the more you fight the faster you sink.
I shake those thoughts from my mind as we find a spot around the corner where the wind has blown the snow away. The boys can climb the side of the mountain with footholds of bushes and brambles.
I am constantly restraining myself from calling out, ‘be careful’, while allowing them to expand their capabilities and explore with curiosity. Gauging the hillside I once again decide, only broken bones, and let out a long, white puff of breathe.
Eventually, they slide down the slope in that slightly out of control manner that children seem to have while running downhill.
We meander along the shoulder of the road to a spot near our van, where we decide we should build a snowman. The weather is truly inviting.
At home on the prairies, we waffle between frigid -40 and balmy -20, with a side of 40 km/hr winds. This is magical: an enormous amount of snow with ambient temperatures!
We easily have three round balls of snow we then stack one on top of the other. I contemplate how to ‘dress’ our snowman, but the boys quickly find some sticks for arms, which they make sure are waving at our amused spectators. We kick away some slush at the side of the road and snatch a few small stones. My 6 year old scales the slope again to find a sizeable, flat piece of the shale that seems so common on these mountains. I place it as a hat on our snowman’s head.
Voila!
A jolly, frost snowman waving at our fellow travellers.
We are quite proud of our work and stand back to admire it.
Tim has been slowly walking up the road with our ‘baby’ shuffling along, so we run and catch up. We notice that the majority of the vehicles stationed here are semi trucks.
“Hey, watch this?” my husband says with a grin as he pumps his fist up and down in the air. The tractor trailer driver pulls a cord drooping by his window and blasts the horn.
We all scream and cover our ears.
The boys erupt into giggles and shout, “Do it again!”
Tim and the kids run ahead, the boys stopping to pump their arms at the trucks they pass, covering their ears in anticipation and laughing with pure joy. The semi drivers never disappoint. More than one driver hops down with a handful of snacks and before we know it we are walking back, passing our friendly snowman with arms full of juice boxes, fruit cups, and granola bars.
With rosy cheeks, dripping noses, and big smiles we all pile into our van. Tim starts the ignition and cranks up the heat as the windows fog up and we peel off our wet clothes. Soon we are dry and cozy in our seats with blankets tucked around legs and packaged snacks, that somehow taste better than any I’ve ever had, piled on our laps.
I am amazed how time has flown by! Sure enough, we begin to notice vehicles approaching in the other lane. One or two cars pass by. We know we’ll be on the road as soon as those ploughs clear the way.
I see the flash of yellow lights reflecting on the snow before I see the grater around the bend.
“Hey guys! Look! Here comes the machinery.”
Four sets of innocent blue eyes peer out the window to get a glimpse of the big rigs they love.
Then to my horror, the grater decapitates our snowy-friend right before our eyes.
The End.
More Family Adventures
Something burst in me and grew as I drove that old pick up with white knuckles and my heart pounding. Keep reading here.
Practical life on the homestead: a classic meatloaf recipe and simple honey mustard glazed ham.
Snuggle in
Little Critters: Just a Snowman a book that I just read to our youngest this afternoon. Spoiler: their snowman has a happy ending.
So much fun in your family…always up to an adventure. Poor snowman!! What a great ending!!!
Love your writing!
Alicia
Its good for me to document and remember these things. I think, I’ll never forget but they sometimes get lost in the busyness of life!
Love it! Great story
Thank you so much, friend!