Summer Blizzard

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin, each of us speechless and wildly perplexed. The winding road was not the cause of our quiet ride or collective bewilderment – the dips, elevations, and sharp curves of the road had long failed to bring the same tingle of fear and excitement that it did on our 1st trip 19 years ago. We marveled at the snow and how heavy the gigantic flakes appeared as they lightly floated in a mesmerizing pattern to a perfect pre-assigned spot on what could only be described as a Norman Rockwell Christmas portrait. The snow covered the cabin, ground, and trees in the brightest white velvet, yet the road was still remarkably clear.

“Is this for real? I mean, this can’t be real . . . Can it?”

Carl’s whisper was answered with stunned silence. We were all frozen, partially in confusion and the other part by the sudden chill that greeted our snail-paced approach to the white velvet Winter Wonderland. We sat. In the loudest silence. In swim trunks, crocs, and tank tops. In a snow-covered car loaded with kayaks, camping, and fishing gear for the annual summer camping getaway. IT. WAS. JULY! It was July? It was definitely July . . .

We had no answers, were afraid to ask questions, yet couldn’t seem to pull ourselves away from this aberration of nature; this juxtaposition of solstices; THIS! Back up and leave, get out and run, call the police, signal the Men In Black, notify the Avengers – do ANY thing. Instead, we did nothing for an eternity of three hours from 9:22 am to 12:21 pm until the cold violently seized us to jar us awake.

“I gotta get inside and get a fire going until we can figure out what this means!”

Carl’s normally soft-spoken words boomed in the silence. We all knew he was right. At that moment, it became glaringly real that we were all afraid of what was outside of the car. No one moved because no one dared risk the fate of learning what the “snow” really was. Maybe it was simply snow – a weather anomaly created by aggressive Western jet stream winds encountering southern precipitation at the precise intersection of Northern cold burst in the high elevation of our summer cabin retreat. Or maybe it was some type of alien invasion or chemical warfare or the result of a horrible manufacturing accident in town. The declining temperature suggested snow. Either way, none of us were bold, daring, or stupid enough to risk it all.

No one bothered to reach for their phone because we all knew we had passed the “Point of No Return” about two miles back where all phones finally surrendered their last remaining signal bar. It was part of the reason why this summer getaway was like no other vacation – no work, no social media posts, no clients, no telemarketing calls, nobody inquiring about car warranties, or political ads - barely enough signal to use the GPS features if we were ever lost in this familiar territory.

“We can’t just sit here and burn up all of our gas. We may need it. We don’t know if “this” is gonna hit the rest of the mountain and the town or hover over the cabin and the top of the ridge.” As he talked, Carl's fear seemed to fill the whole car and animate him like his friends had never seen before. Carl’s wild hand gestures never really bothered JuLa like they did at the word “this”. Maybe it was the benign conversation on the trip or maybe it was the ---

“What just happened? Why did the car cut off? WTF just happened? Carl, you said we had 'plenty of gas'!” Now JuLa was the one using air quotes and wild hand gestures.

“I don’t know! It just cut off!!! How was I supposed to know it was gonna shut down?”, Carl was starting to breathe erratically. He could hear everyone in the car breathing. He could feel the car’s interior shrinking and closing in on him. He was starting to lose it and his friends were watching it happen in real time.

“I’m going inside. I gotta find a shovel or something to clear a path. Otherwise, the car’ll be buried, and we won’t even be able to drive out IF we get it restarted.”

As Carl turned to reassure his friends it would all be okay, his mind drifted back to his first call to Max about their annual trip – their banter about whether to take the girls, if they were going to make the hike into Canada this year or ride the river south for the trout. He mused at the way Jula and Barb were so excited about the opportunity to invade the annual “Boy’s Trip” and get away from the world. Mentally, Carl harmonized every note of every song that became the soundtrack to their ride into the 2023 Summer Blizzard. Maybe this was the beginning of the end . . . This could very well be the last time Carl would see his friends. And this could be their very last memory of him. He was beyond afraid but wanted to reassure his friends and at least keep them calm.

Carl inhaled deeply! Before he could find the courage to speak or the words to say, Jula grabbed his hand and shook her head in protest. She had so many thoughts in her head, but no words in throat, no voice. She only knew this was a bad decision. The fear in her eyes screamed volumes through the suffocating silence. Carl heard every word that Jula left unsaid, received every bit of emotion conveyed, felt the intensity of her heartbeat in the touch of her hands.

As he grabbed the door handle, Carl comforted his friends with a few simple words, “It’s gonna be okay guys! I’ll be right back!”