Riding the Storm

Thirty-nine years ago earlier this week the Blizzard of '78 whitened out New England. I can still remember seeing only white out the windows, and how afterwards, snow came up to a man's waist (unless it was a snow drift in which he just disappeared). I remember not going to school the morning of the sixth because my mother didn't relish the thought of having to fight through another snowstorm. We had had one about a week earlier, and my mother tried to take me to school, but, when we got to the point where we could see it, there was no one there, and we turned back. On February 6th, she thought my missing one day of school was no big deal, just in case. My father, however, went to work, and was stranded there until after the storm. 

Because, that morning everyone set off for work or school as usual. Meteorologists didn't have the tools they have now, and couldn't know the storm system would slow down and deliver the storm of the century to New England. By mid-afternoon, though, it was suspected this would be a big storm. But it was too late for those who had a longer commute. I remember seeing rows of snow covered mounds on Route 128 that happened to be cars. Some people had died of carbon monoxide poisoning. To keep the cars warm, they ran the engine, but failed to clean the accumulating snow from around the exhaust pipe. 

Digging out from the blizzard.

To clean the streets and roads, all cars were banned from them for a week. The first few days they couldn't have gotten through the snow, anyway. Everyone walked everywhere. I remember walking with my parents to a supermarket much further up our street along the middle of the asphalt because the sidewalks were still buried. Crowds were walking along with us. To me, nine years old at the time, it was fun. Except walking back, when I got tired from the walk and the weight of the bag I was carrying. 

The snow that was accumulated in mounds all over the place, including the end of our driveway, took forever to melt. I remember playing on our mound and even trying to dig a tunnel. I didn't get far. I had more luck designing my own slide on the mound, though. My mother also had to hang my clothes on the radiators to dry when I finally went inside. The mound lasted well into April, though gradually diminishing in size. 

We don't get storms or blizzards like that here. Our weather is more like that of the Pacific Northwest, though slightly warmer. Inland, where the mountains begin that lead to the Pyrenees at the other end of the peninsula, that's where they get some snow. But snowstorms like the ones in New England generally appear near the Pyrenees, where the wind channels straight from Siberia after picking up moisture in the Bay of Biscay. Last Friday we had a succession of fronts pass over us. When they got to northeastern Spain, that's where they offloaded snow. But here we got torrential downpours and winds of up to seventy miles an hour (116 kph). Thousands lost power and stayed without it for days. Rivers overflowed. Roofs were ripped off, trees felled. We got in four days the same amount of rain we usually get in two months. On the coast, at least, the drought is no more. 

But we didn't rush out to buy up all the water or flour or batteries or milk. We didn't hole ourselves up at home, nor taped the windows. We continued with life as usual. The only thing different, was that the cities closed the parks to the public, and everyone was warned to drive carefully. The only schools that had no classes were those that lost their roofs or got flooded. The local high school had no electric service an entire day, yet classes weren't cancelled. 

We're used to those types of gales and come to expect them every winter. Some winters we only get one or two. Other winters we get one after the other, with monster waves attached that make the prices at the fish market fly into the sky. It's all part of a normal winter.

But, oh, I miss New England snow storms!
 

The waves at Corrubedo last Friday.