I’m looking out my window at a virtual winter wonderland. Large snowflakes fill the sky; the ground has turned from the brown dead of winter to the beautiful, clean, white of freshly fallen snow. I can’t help but think back to earlier days — how the view is still similar, yet my perspective has changed. The same scene viewed through the same eyes 40 years apart yields very different results.
Forty years ago, a sky full of white with snow piling up in the yard would have elicited pure joy. This amount of snow almost certainly meant school would be canceled.
My dad was a mailman, and the mail must get delivered through rain, sleet and snow. Often, I would ride with him into town on his way to work with my trusty snow shovel over my shoulder. I’d begin the process of going door to door and offering to clear driveways and sidewalks in exchange for money.
I remember asking my dad, “How much should I charge for shoveling?” He said, “Just knock on the door, introduce yourself, and ask if you can shovel their walk or driveway. And when they ask how much, say, ‘How about you just pay me what you think it is worth when I am done?’” That sales pitch was wildly successful, and I only remember getting the short end of that deal one time out of the many walks I shoveled.
I was completely free to run my shoveling business all day; the harder I worked, the more money I made. There was something pretty satisfying about getting home, reaching into my pocket and pulling out a wad of wet cash large enough to choke a horse.
Snow represented opportunity. However, snow also represented fun.
One of my favorite memories occurred when we experienced something close to a blizzard, and the snow had changed to sleet and freezing rain. The deep snow was covered with a thick crust of ice, perfect for high-speed sled riding. Our driveway was about 100 yards long with a steep grade, so it was transformed into a virtual bobsled run.
My parents had to go to town that night, and my dad left me in charge of my younger brothers and sister. He instructed me to keep everyone inside until they got home because it was dangerous outside. He specifically said to stay off the driveway because it was too slick for cars to stop if we ventured onto the gravel road.
Well, the opportunity was too great for us to miss out on. We waited until we could no longer see their taillights, and we quickly donned our snow gear and headed outside to make the most of that icy driveway on our large runner sled.
The plan was to sled for a short time and retreat inside before my parents returned with no one being any wiser. It was fast, and it was fun, and we quickly lost track of time. And my dad was right — it was so fast that there was no way to stop at the end of the driveway! Instead, we flew across the gravel road and into the woods across the road.
As luck would have it, on what became our fateful last run, we loaded up and soared down the driveway, all four of us piled on one sled. At the bottom, when I saw headlights approaching on the gravel road, I tried to steer, telling everyone to bail off, but we were going way too fast. The driver saw us, slammed on the brakes, skidding into a full 360-degree circle that ended in the ditch. We zoomed across the road in front of the car, and when we got stopped and turned around, I knew it was not going to be a good night.
It was my parents’ car in the ditch, and the driver’s side door was open. My dad stood there loudly voicing things that are completely inappropriate for this magazine to print. One saying in our house growing up was, “Liars get the belt.” That night, we found out there were other ways to get the belt that were much worse.
Forty years later, as I look out and see a winter storm, I am no less amazed at the beauty of it all. But I am filled with a different set of thoughts and emotions.
Today, I worry about snow becoming ice and coating electric lines to the point of collapse. I worry about our lineworkers who will be dispatched out into the storm to make repairs to keep the lights on. I worry for the employees who work at our power plants, who travel on icy roads and work in the snow and ice to keep equipment from freezing so everyone else can stay warm. I worry for all their families who are home alone without dad or mom, dealing with the storm on their own, praying for their safety. Then comes my worry about freezing temperatures driving up the cost of natural gas, which has the effect of raising the cost of electricity and negatively impacting our members.
Then I remember that we train for these very scenarios. We have been preparing for winter storms, and we have great people who are committed to serving our members and keeping the lights on. That is when I stop worrying and just focus on executing the plan!