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Snowdrifts

Memories frozen in time

By Thomas DurbinPublished 3 years ago 7 min read
3

The early winter storm brought several inches of snow. A beautiful blanket covered the fields and decorated the boughs of the trees. The roof of the old barn sagged a little under the weight of white snow that beautifully framed the fading red of the vertical planks of siding on the old barn. Morning sun and cold air combined to create icicles hanging from the eaves of the little white house snuggled into the edge of the woods. The rails of Grandpa's pioneer fence of lashed limbs lined with fresh snow and tree-trunk fence posts with white tufts atop each one added a rustic detail to the bucolic scene. Grandma's flower kettle was mounded with snow in place of her summer marigolds. The yard that had been glowing green and yellow with flashes of light from fireflies was now covered by that beautiful white blanket. Nature's fury painted a picture of beauty draped in a wonderful way upon the features of the farm and the woods around it.

Grandpa called and said he was home from plowing roads during the wee morning hours. The main routes were clear and the country roads were passable. His chores were done and he was looking forward to another fine winter day at the farm. The cows had been milked and the bull was in the corral behind the old barn. He already had the "B" out and ready to pull sleds. The "B" is the Farmall tractor Great-Grandpa bought the year Dad was born. Dad put the earpiece back on the cradle and announced that we would make the trek over one branch or the other of the nearby river and through the woods between his house and Grandma's house for a winter visit. I helped Dad get the snow gear ready and finished clearing the drive. The boys celebrated. They knew this meant no school, hot chocolate, slices of their Great-Grandma's chocolate cake, cookies, pie, crackling fire in the old pot-bellied furnace, and playing in the snow. When Great-Grandma wasn't looking, they would breathe on the windows and make puppy feet in the condensation, too.

Running to get their things, Oliver got to the coat closet first. Theodore helped him get their winter clothes and coats ready. They piled on the layers to keep warm. Too many layers to be able to reach their boots and put them on. I laughed when they hollered for help and went to see what they needed. It only took a couple of minutes to put their new moon boots on their feet and tie the laces. After putting them each on their feet and sending them out the front door, I grabbed my extra coat and gloves, donned an old purple stocking cap with a white tassel on top, and followed them to the truck Dad had started a few minutes earlier. We took the usual route, heading south between the empty corn and bean fields now glowing with the splendor of winter white. Drifts towered above the fences in a few places where gusting winds had deposited layer upon layer the previous day. South, over the overpass, through a small town, and over the Singing Bridge spanning the Salt Fork of the Vermilion River. The landscape was quiet, serene, and beautiful. Icy snow topped the big rocks in the middle of the river as the cold water rushed past too quickly to freeze. The left turn onto the back road that would take us by Camp Drake was a little tight due to snow filling the ditches, but the old truck seemed to guide itself safely through and we didn't miss a beat. As we neared the last turn, the boys cheered again. They could see their Great-Grandpa attaching sleds to the pull bar on the back of the bright red "B" in the drive by the garage. He stood and waved with both hands when he heard the truck's horn, beep be-beep beep. Dad's signature announcement of arrival and departure.

Theodore and Oliver leapt from the truck and tumbled in the snow, laughing and rolling. They got to their feet clumsily and kicked their way through the snow and each grabbed Great-Grandpa for a hug, nearly knocking him over. They pleaded for a ride and jumped on the sleds behind the tractor. He deftly climbed into the tractor's seat and put it in low gear. The tractor bellowed as he worked the throttle and slowly released the clutch. The tractor lurched slightly as it started moving forward and the ropes to the sleds went taut. Dad told the boys to hold on tight and they were off and running! The old "B" had no trouble forging a path through the new fallen snow and they made several trips around the small field, past the corral, and around the old barn. When they finally returned to the garage, their faces were red and beaming with smiles. The boys tested the snow and found that it packed nicely in their hands. A brief snowball fight of mostly errant throws ended as quickly as it started. Theodore grabbed one and started rolling it and Oliver copied the effort. Soon, they had two nice, big snowballs ready to become parts of a snowman. I rolled one bigger snowball and the boys stacked their pieces on it. Grandpa put his scarf on the snowman and used a couple of pieces of coal from the furnace for eyes. Grandma saw through the window and came out to take a photo. Then, she told the boys the kitchen was open and her Great-Grandsons raced to the house for cake and hot chocolate and several other special made-from-scratch goodies she always seemed to have ready for company this time of year. Next to the box in plain brown paper that she was saving for the holidays in the pantry was an assortment of freshly baked pies and cookies and a chocolate cake. She already had the ingredients for fudge, divinity, and hard-rock candy on the kitchen counter. Grandma always made the holidays amazing.

Grandpa, Dad, and I got on the "B" and started down the drive. We continued along the dirt road and down the hill to check the little pond where we had caught many yellow-bellied catfish during past summers. It was a small pond hidden in the wood a few paces off the road near the convergence of the Salt Fork and the Middle Fork of the Vermilion River. Grandpa parked the "B" and we headed toward the pond. We could see through the bare trees and leafless brush that the pond was covered in snow like the fields around us. I put a boot forward and brushed some snow off the layer of ice covering the pond before slowly putting some weight on that leg. The ice held, so I leaned a little farther over the boot to put all my weight onto it. It held. Dad and Grandpa stepped out onto the ice slowly several feet apart and we made our way toward the middle, keeping several feet between us to distribute the weight on the ice. It was early in the winter, but it had been colder than usual the first two weeks of that December. A cracking sound reached our ears and brought us to a quick halt. I felt the ice give slightly and saw some water trickling through a crack by my right foot. The water seeping through the crack quickly melted a little patch of snow and made a small pool. Ice fishing would have to wait. The pond was frozen, but the ice wasn't yet thick enough to hold us safely. We slowly worked our way back to the edge of the pond and took the "B" back to the farm to join Grandma and the boys for some hot chocolate and those wonderful home-made treats. Cookies, cake, and pie! Grandpa strummed his guitar for a few minutes while the boys made noise with his old harmonicas and Grandma sang "Delta Dawn" in the kitchen as I helped her with the dishes.

We were all warm and full of tasty treats when Dad said we'd better hit the road and get back to his place before dark. More snow was coming. We grabbed our coats and hats and gloves and stepped onto the back deck to put on our boots. Grandpa and Grandma waved and Dad tooted the horn as we drove out of sight. We took the other route home to enjoy the beautiful scenery. We crossed the river near the small frozen pond and climbed took the old brick road up the hill behind the 'Possum Trot to the main road then crossed the Middle Fork as we worked our way back home. The boys were falling asleep and we quietly enjoyed the beauty of the winter landscape as we slowly travelled the snowy back roads home.

grandparents
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About the Creator

Thomas Durbin

Raised in rural east-central Illinois, I appreciate nature and the environment. I'm a father, grandfather, professional engineer-scientist, leader, scouts leader, coach, stoic, minimalist, costumer, historian, traveler, and writer.

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