Enjoy The Pages of Your Life

(This is a long story, but I hope worth your time, DB) In the early 1980’s I lived in Colorado Springs, Colorado.  Two of the most amazing events in my life came along about that time. In February of 1982 my daughter was born.  Quiety and calmly she came into the world without a lot of fanfare or angst.  To this day I remember looking down into her dark blue eyes and simply getting lost there.  I thanked God she was ok, and knew instantly that here was a little life that I would always cherish. In December of 1982, on Christmas Eve we started about a thirty mile drive to spend that evening with my wife’s parents, who lived near a smaller town just east of us.  We closed the business we owned early in the afternoon, picked up my wife’s Grandmother in the northern part of the city, and began our short drive in good spirits on a cold, crisp, partly-sunny day. In good weather it normally took less than an hour, and was over paved roads in fairly good condition. Riding along in our 72’ Chevy Blazer we weren’t overly concerned about the weather.  The forecast had called for snow later in the evening; however we would certainly be to the in-laws house long before the weather worsened.  As we took our turn to the east the situation quickly became serious. My wife’s parents had once lived on this sparsely populated residential road before moving even farther east.  We were familiar with the terrain after many times traveled.  What we had not anticipated in spite of the familiarity was the suddenness and intensity of the storm we now faced.  Within only a few miles the weather had changed from lightly falling snow to near white out conditions—and we had not even yet reached the city limits. I had slowed the car as conditions became worse, and we were debating calling off the trip when suddenly the decision was made for us. Within only moments, blowing snow became a fierce wind.  Snow was quickly drifting not only across the road but in deep drifts on each side.  Out of no where a pick-up truck passed us cutting quickly into our lane.  Tapping the brake and warning my wife and her Grandmother to brace themselves, anticipating problems ahead, I suddenly was forced to swerve to miss the truck spinning wildly out of control in front of us.  As the truck slammed head on into a drift we barely missed it and sunk into a similar drift a short distance away. My first thought was for my daughter, who giggled back at me from her car seat behind me.  Although shaken, all three of my passengers were unhurt, and Grandmother was uncharacteristically cursing those in the truck.  Looking over at the truck through the blowing snow, we were close enough to see them waving at us apparently also unhurt. A problem with the 72’ Blazer was that, in order to put it in four-wheel drive, you had to lock the hubs on the front axle—from the outside, physically on the wheel hubs themselves.  As I quickly jumped from behind the driver’s seat to the ground several feet below, due to the large over-sized tires, the wind bit deeply through my winter coat.  Battling for only a few moments with my gloved hands at each hub I was already becoming chilled.  Although the front end was partially buried in the snow, I had little doubt that I could pull out with all four tires pulling. By this time, what had been only minutes before a dry, paved road with snow blowing across it, was now a solid sheet of ice.  The blowing snow had melted with the warmth of the road and quickly frozen from the wind chill.  Half a dozen times I tried to back out of the snow drift and each time there was little movement.  Twice I again went out into the cold to dig around the front which seemed to cover again as quickly as I could dig it out.  All four tires spun uselessly on the ice.  Quietly within myself I knew we could be in very real danger. It was finally decided that we would simply wait the storm out in the car.  We had over a half tank of gas, so the car could be kept running and keeping us warm while the storm raged on outside.  We had food for the baby, goodies for ourselves meant for Christmas dinner, heavy clothing, and even some candles we could use for additional warmth if necessary.  Although useless in such weather, the CB radio could be used to call out in an emergency once the weather cleared enough for the signal to carry more than a few hundred yards.  Cracking the windows slightly to allow in fresh air, we quietly discussed our plans.  Grandmother and wife had lived in Colorado all of their lives, while I myself had lived there for over 15 years myself.  We all agreed that the storm would blow itself out in a few hours and we could continue on after digging ourselves out. We considered going to the truck to ask them to join us, however that too was temporarily postponed until the weather let up.  None of us was in a hurry to invite a couple of, what appeared to be drunk cowboys, to join us immediately. What had been early afternoon quickly became late afternoon, then evening.  While the gas gauge fell lower and lower, the unseen sun also fell lower and lower in the sky.  To conserve fuel I began to run the engine only for ten or fifteen minutes at a time, just enough to keep the inside warm.  If anything, the storm seemed to intensify. Anyone who has never been in a complete white-out cannot imagine what it feels like.  Visibility is only a few feet.  All sense of direction is gone because there is no frame of reference for your eyes.  There is nothing but a glaring, white, blowing mass of snow anywhere you look. As the gas gauge fell lower and lower, I started to consider walking to the nearest house for help.  Although I couldn’t see it, I knew the road well enough to be aware of the houses along it.  Grandmother and my wife were both against my attempting going for help, but I knew that there was a chance our fuel would run out before the storm did.  My worry increased as the light faded slowly. As darkness came upon us, I could very faintly make out dim lights through the blowing snow—street lights coming on at dusk.  Although I didn’t mention it to the others, I was looking carefully for any lights closer to the ground which might turn out to be house lights, or porch lights.  Those would be my target should it become necessary for me to go for help. My concentration from staring into the snow was suddenly broken at a sharp tap on the passenger window and a startled gasp from my wife. Rolling down her window slightly, we could barely make out two dim figures in the snow. “You guys look like you could use some warming up,” came a voice.  “Why don’t you all come over to the house and we can set you by the fireplace and wait out the storm.” Although we could barely hear the voice over the howling storm, the meaning was clear.  Bundling up the wife and Grandmother, I sent them ahead first with the man and his son to help them, while I waited in the car with my daughter held close to me—under my coat to keep her warm against the chill of the door opening.  Grandmother was over seventy at the time, and my wife was none too steady on her feet on ice and snow.  Neither would I trust with walking in these conditions while carrying a baby.  The two men would need to have both hands free to help the women. What seemed like forever but was actually only twenty minutes or so later, the men returned for us.  The man held out his arms for my daughter, and I declined. “Thank you, but she’s my daughter.  I have to do this.”  He nodded and stepped back so I could get out of the car. I immediately sank waist deep into the snow, and hugged my daughter under my coat as she squirmed slightly.  I then followed the man with his son by my side as we walked toward a feint light in the distance.  One slogging footstep at a time, leaning against the wind, forcing myself forwards, while keeping my balance and holding my daughter carefully but firmly to me; we made our way to the light. Quite suddenly, or so it seemed, we were there.  A house loomed in front of us, the porch light beckoning us in.  Hands helping us in the door, my wife’s anxious arms held out for her baby—and her little smile up at me as I slowly and carefully opened my coat for her.  For her it was all a little lark I suppose, after all.  She was safe in her Daddy’s arms. The storm that hit Colorado Springs on Christmas Eve of 1982 was the worst in decades.  Motorists were stranded on Highways all over the state for days in freezing temperatures, with rescue vehicles themselves unable to get to them.  There were stories of miracles and heroism, and survival.  For our family, it was our own Christmas miracle. The family we spent that Christmas Eve with had been waiting and hoping that two of their own children would make it home from college for Christmas through the storm.  The phones were out and they were unable to get news of their children, so they kept a quiet vigil by their front window.  They could see little more through their own windows than we could ourselves through our car windows.  As the woman gazed out during a slight break in the wind, she had seen a light flicker—one of the candles we had lit for additional warmth while the engine was off.  Calling her husband to the window, they both strained to see again until they were certain.  Covered as we were with snow by then, they couldn’t see the bright orange Blazer, but they did see the flickering candle through the gathering darkness.  It was then that the man and his sixteen year old son decided they needed to help some people who needed it. The family’s children did not make it home that night, when the phones were finally up again the children called from Denver where they had safely made it to a motel for the night. These strangers rescued us, warmed us, fed us, and when the storm of the decade simply refused to let up, they put us up in their home for the night along with the two men from the truck, who turned out not to be drunk but simply trying to get home for the holiday as we were.  When we woke the next morning, the storm had moved on, but not without leaving its mark. Looking out the front window for the car, we were hard pressed to see it.  Then finally we were able to make it out in the morning sunlight.  Only a few feet of the useless, 12 foot, CB whip-antenna stood above the snow drifts.  The huge, high profile Blazer, was totally buried under the snow less than 100 yards from the house.  It took us several hours to dig around and to it—and a couple more just to clear the packed snow from around the engine so I could start it.  Eventually a kind driver of a county caterpillar earth mover attached a chain to the Blazer to help us pull it out of the death grip of the snow. Our new friends that Christmas had only remained that year because their children were coming home from school and wanted to spend the holiday with their parents at home.  Previous holidays for the family had been spent together with relatives in another and warmer state.  To their knowledge they were the only family within a half-mile of this mostly retirement age community to have stayed home for Christmas.  Their neighbors had all left earlier in the week to spend the holiday elsewhere. We sent them a card every year for about ten years after that, and they responded as well.  Then one year they simply moved away and we lost track of them.  I haven’t forgotten them over the years, especially at Christmas time.  I will never forget the love and the home they shared with strangers on Christmas Eve.

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