The pull-down maps in school showed us living in North America to be sure, but in a temperate zone. Subtropical is the term used to describe our great mutual place, though it was not unusual for us to endure ice storms and freezes during that brown season some called winter.
“A good freeze kills off the boll weevil,” the old folks used to say. Of course, a freeze did nothing of the sort. It only empowered the little bastards and made them hungry and jealous of life.
Now remember, this was a time before down-filled vests and Gore-Tex. Sort of makes you wonder how the Choctaws and Chickasaws ever made it through such a winter, but then there was so much to wonder about where these original people were concerned. There were still the occasional burial mounds seen out in corn fields that got smaller and smaller every year. Pottery shards and arrow heads turned up in gravel piles from time to time. We were vaguely aware of who had lived there before us, but they were mostly gone now. “Disappeared into both races,” William Faulkner said.
There are old photographs of our pack of wild cousins frolicking in the snow, building forts, throwing snowballs, and such. We are all decked out in World War II gear brought home by fathers and uncles as war trophies. Those helmets, Nazi arm bands and flags would’ve been museum quality items today had they not been left to rot and rust in the woods.
Of course, Nazi helmeted and swastika arm band wearing children could look a bit suspicious these days, when no one gives quarter or benefit of doubt. We would do well to recall context and timeframe when passing judgment, but we never do.
This would have been the arctic winter of ‘51. Power lines came down as did trees. Some just bent over and would continue to grow for the next few years, incorporating their bend, as if to recall the ice and its weight. It wasn’t unusual to see a fence line of such trees. Old-timers could read them like the Sunday newspaper. “You see that saplin’ yonder?”
It was far too cold to play outside for long. Candles and lanterns came out of storage and reminded us of that time not so long ago of a world lit by fire. The wind picked up, making it feel colder than it really was.
Several pairs of pants, plus sweaters and overcoats were worn in the uninsulated house. Pipes froze and burst, automobiles skidded and slid off the road. The ice was everywhere. No one could walk or drive in it.
This went on for the better part of a week; neighbors helping neighbors, everybody cold and suffering, but laughing a lot, too. Then the cold spell lifted. It turned off sunny and 65 degrees. The ice melted, leaving a surface of wet soggy earth. Mud ball wars replaced the snow. They were much more damaging to windows and skin as the balls contained rock and gravel.
People still talk about the great freeze of ’51. The surviving trees, bent over and crooked, remember it all as well. You’ve but to ask them and they will respond in the only way they know how. Their testament being their endurance, eloquent as the first snow heap on pottery shards.
William Dunlap
“We would do well to recall context and timeframe when passing judgment, but we never do.”
Amen, brother. Can I get a witness!!
Beautiful.