My hometown of Atlanta, Georgia, is known - in part - for its nearly unbearably humid summers. It is not known for having particularly cold winters. In fact, I can recall more than a few Christmases when the mercury was steadily holding in the 60’s. While New England and parts of the Midwest were trudging through mounds of snow, Atlantans were digging out their warm weather clothing. Last year was different, though. In 2010, for the first time in more than a century, Atlanta had a “white Christmas.”
When all was said and done, the Atlanta area only had a couple of inches of snow on the ground. It was not exactly a blizzard. But, watching the snow fall that afternoon, I was reminded of one of my most vivid snow experiences. One of the few times I have actually experienced a true blizzard. It was March 1993. Snow was in the forecast. But, it was not expected to be much, perhaps an inch or two. Certainly nothing worth worrying over. My brothers and I would have a three day weekend, due to a previously planned teacher workday. My mother had planned to use the occasion to take us to visit our cousins in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Like Atlanta, a minimal amount of snow was forecast for Tuscaloosa. As such, my mother went through with the planned trip. Thursday afternoon, we said goodbye to my father, who had to work the next day and could not make the trip, and began the drive to Tuscaloosa. Thursday evening was uneventful as it was cold, but not snowing . . . yet.
The next morning, the snow began to fall. Before long, it became obvious that the earlier predictions of trace amounts of snow were not exactly accurate. In addition to the quickly accumulating snow, the winds were extremely strong. By Friday evening, my aunt and uncle’s home had lost power, as had much of the southeastern corner of the country. Having been outside for much of the afternoon, my two cousins, siblings and I were eager to warm up once inside the house. But, without power, we did not have central heat. Instead, my uncle had built a large fire in the home’s fireplace. We all gathered as close as we could to the fire, eager to lose the chill of being outside. That night, we slept in front of that fire. It is this image that I most vividly recall from that storm. The five of us lying in a row, in front of the hearth.
We had planned to return to Atlanta that Sunday. But, by Saturday, more than one foot of snow had fallen in some places. Snow drifts were several feet high. The frozen precipitation had made the roads extremely treacherous. In short, nobody was going anywhere. Instead, we spent a few more days playing in the snow. In the end, it was late Tuesday before were able to return to Atlanta.
When all was said and done, the Atlanta area only had a couple of inches of snow on the ground. It was not exactly a blizzard. But, watching the snow fall that afternoon, I was reminded of one of my most vivid snow experiences. One of the few times I have actually experienced a true blizzard. It was March 1993. Snow was in the forecast. But, it was not expected to be much, perhaps an inch or two. Certainly nothing worth worrying over. My brothers and I would have a three day weekend, due to a previously planned teacher workday. My mother had planned to use the occasion to take us to visit our cousins in Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Like Atlanta, a minimal amount of snow was forecast for Tuscaloosa. As such, my mother went through with the planned trip. Thursday afternoon, we said goodbye to my father, who had to work the next day and could not make the trip, and began the drive to Tuscaloosa. Thursday evening was uneventful as it was cold, but not snowing . . . yet.
The next morning, the snow began to fall. Before long, it became obvious that the earlier predictions of trace amounts of snow were not exactly accurate. In addition to the quickly accumulating snow, the winds were extremely strong. By Friday evening, my aunt and uncle’s home had lost power, as had much of the southeastern corner of the country. Having been outside for much of the afternoon, my two cousins, siblings and I were eager to warm up once inside the house. But, without power, we did not have central heat. Instead, my uncle had built a large fire in the home’s fireplace. We all gathered as close as we could to the fire, eager to lose the chill of being outside. That night, we slept in front of that fire. It is this image that I most vividly recall from that storm. The five of us lying in a row, in front of the hearth.
We had planned to return to Atlanta that Sunday. But, by Saturday, more than one foot of snow had fallen in some places. Snow drifts were several feet high. The frozen precipitation had made the roads extremely treacherous. In short, nobody was going anywhere. Instead, we spent a few more days playing in the snow. In the end, it was late Tuesday before were able to return to Atlanta.
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