As hard as it is for us to believe January 2019 marked our thirty-year anniversary of living in northeast Ohio. I’ve come a long way, physically and meteorologically, from southeast Texas. The winters I recall as a Texas tot were mild to chilly, with temperatures occasionally dropping below the freezing mark and warranting a jacket. I loved a cute hat or a sweet pair of boots, but they were based on fashion rather than function. I wasn’t quite sure why anyone in her right mind would ever consider wearing a scratchy wool sweater or expensive real leather boots with rubber soles in public. While scarves and gloves could be extremely becoming, they just made life difficult…and were always getting lost. Ski masks, I believed, served only one purpose…hiding the identity of ne’er-do-wells while they were pulling off their heists.
If memory serves, I had witnessed Texas snow twice.
Bless my heart…I was so cute.
My first exposure, no pun intended, to Ohio winters came way back in 1971, when I was invited to visit my boyfriend’s home over Christmas break. Happy day…there was snow! I was well-prepared with my cute red vinyl double-breasted trench coat and my super trendy shiny vinyl knee boots with purely ornamental lace-up accents. These were less than useless…not only were they impotent against the elements, they caused my future in-laws to doubt my intelligence and good judgment, and wonder what their son could possibly be thinking. Gloves? Hat? …nope…how about warm socks? Nada. I threw myself on the mercy of his sister, who, as all good Ohioans know, had several extras of each. At the end of my visit I boarded a plane and waved bye-bye to snow-covered roads, bulky clothing, and all things wool and returned to my 65 degree Texas home with flocked Christmas trees and plywood snowmen…home, sweet normal, home.
Fast forward eleven years. We spent a good portion of the eighties in the wonderland that is Colorado. Our family of six settled in on the high plains east of the Rockies, between Denver and Colorado Springs. At every opportunity we explored the outdoors…hiking, camping, and SKIING! Yes, the Centennial State has snow, and yes, that snow could be deep, but stay with me, Texas peeps…for the most part it is “dry” snow, powdery, if you will. And, more often than not, a big snowfall is followed up with a dazzlingly sunny day and a brilliant blue sky. Snow equals powder, followed by stunning clear days and fun-filled ski trips to one of the myriad of Rocky Mountain resorts. What’s not to love about snow? Full disclosure requires that I note I did learn the term “black ice” in Colorado…scary stuff; and there was that one winter when our Ford Econoline got slammed by careless drivers on slippery roads twice. But I digress.
Our first winter in Ohio was brutal. Honestly I cannot remember much about the weather, but we were cold all of the time. All. Of. The. Time. Our quaint home gave a new and more sinister meaning to the term “drafty”. We dressed in layers of everything…shirts, pants, socks. Did the long underwear make me look fat? Yes, and I didn’t care! Thanks to Colorado we still owned ski garb, so when forced to go outside the snow pants and ski mittens eased the pain.
The charm of our wavy-glassed, nine-paned, wooden windows was soon negated by fingers of icy air creeping through tiny cracks and piercing through bedrooms. After a particularly gusty, snowy night, patches of snow were blown on top of some of the children’s blankets in one forlorn bedroom. The now-grown children still enjoy telling that story to acquaintances who admire our recent renovation work, lest we forget our parenting faux pas.
The house was “heated” (for lack of a better word) by two fuel oil furnaces. We set the thermostats at 65, but we never felt actually warm, and we unexpectedly drained the two oil tanks in less than six weeks. The tanks were refilled, all 450 gallons of them, but we were suspecting we needed to try something else. Twenty or so acres of our land is covered in trees, so we hastily chain-sawed our way through a cord or two of firewood, hoping to utilize our huge, stone fireplace. Visions of warm hands basking in front of a roaring fire filled our heads. We cut, we split, we stacked, and we carried that firewood, while flurries swirled around us. Finally we had our fire, and it was indeed beautiful. But rather than radiating out into the living room and onto our anticipating, shivering forms, the heat was sucked right up the chimney, and colder air drafted over us, and chased the warm air out and away, into the night. Fireplace fail!
We survived our first winter in Ohio and vowed to do everything within our power and limited budget to be better prepared for winters to come. Another new discovery for this Texas girl was something called “storm windows”; these were discovered in the barn and basically were just more of the same, old, rickety windows, but they were hung on the outside of a regular window to allegedly give more of a barrier against the cold. A dozen or so of them were cleaned up and hung. In addition we had high hopes for applying a layer of a plastic wrap-like sheet to the inside of each window and tightening it up by warming it with a blow dryer. Although this was a very satisfying activity, watching the plastic draw up and become taut, and just imagining cold air being stymied, this was about as effective as it now seems as I write about it…zilch. Our best investment was a wood stove fireplace insert. It was a true gem…so at least, when the bedrooms were too chilly, we could camp out in the living room.
So about that snow thing…we absolutely do live in the Snow Belt, and if it has a buckle, our little township has that dubious honor. We can get a snowfall from late October through April or even early May. The biggie months are usually December, January, and
February. Northern Ohio borders Lake Erie, and that is the origin of lake effect snow. The northwest winds come howling southeastward out of Canada and skim over the warmer waters of Lake Erie, sucking up loads of moisture. Those winds then blast over the Ohio shoreline, but they don’t drop their frosty payload until they hit the higher elevations of the Snow Belt, i.e. our house. That’s an exaggeration, but only a slight one. And this snow is wet and heavy. On a positive note, wet snow is great for making snow forts and snowmen; it holds together well, and a snowball made of this stuff can do some real damage. On a negative note, wet snow can crush things…like roofs.
November 1994 is the time setting for my personal snow legend. As fate would have it my husband was in California for six weeks learning all about his new job. Our two oldest children were in college, so I was at home with the two youngest daughters. The storm started on a Sunday night as I was driving our Econoline version 2.0 home from the airport. The usual one hour trip took two and a half hours, and I was mentally exhausted and a little bit scared when I finally got home. During the six days that followed our town recorded nearly 70 inches of snowfall. All non-essential activity came to an abrupt halt. Many a flat roof collapsed. Power lines were down in many communities. On day four our electricity went out, and the daughters and I took up residence in the living room by the wood stove. On day five a generous neighbor dug himself out of his driveway and kindly plowed ours, too. The girls and I, with severe cases of stir craziness, eventually climbed into the van and ventured out into the piles of whiteness. The National Guard was busy moving truckloads of snow and ice out and away. Neighbors were helping neighbors.
In these thirty years I’ve gained a better understanding of what it takes to survive and even flourish through an Ohio winter. I’ve learned that icicles may be beautiful, but their presence is an indication of heat escaping from your house. They can also be dangerous and destructive, ripping away gutters or breaking off and crashing through windows. I’ve also learned that one can learn to drive safely on a snowy road, but to do so one must drive at the exact right speed, and, unfortunately, no one agrees on what that speed is. (For the record…it is 40 miles per hour, any slower and you won’t be able to make it up a hill, and any faster and you will be unable to stop in a reasonable space and you will be a menace to others.) Lots and lots of learning with every passing year.
About ten years ago, in the fall, I suddenly realized that I was not dreading the impending winter; instead I was looking forward to the coming holidays, the longer nights, and yes, even the snow.
