It began as a normal day in December, 1956.
Before noon, the principal of our school in Chauvin, Alta., came into our high school room for an announcement.
“Everyone is going home early. There’s a blizzard out there.”
We all screamed happily and slapped our books shut.
By the time the buses were loaded and moving, the wind and snow created a veil in front of us.
The driver inched the bus along but it started to slide, narrowly avoiding the ditch.
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Near our farm lane, the bus jerked to a stop, firmly stuck in a snowdrift. The driver and an older boy went for help, leaving the rest of us to try to keep warm in the bus. It seemed a long time before we detected lights and heard the sound of a tractor.
With Dad’s tractor pulling us, we were on our way again and soon saw our house through the swirling snowflakes.
Our large farm kitchen seemed to shrink as the students filed in but the warmth engulfed us.
There was a mountain of clothes at the entrance when all the kids had peeled off their outer layers. It looked like Grade 1 bathroom break at school when we washed for lunch.
I remember Mom’s largest cooking pot full of canned tomato soup, milk and wieners. Its warmth soothed our minds as well as our stomachs.
We filled the rest of the day playing games and helping Mom before going to bed.
Even with four bedrooms, there were kids on the living room floor and under the desk in the little office. Dad and Mom were snoring before the talking and giggling ceased.
The next morning, the sun was shining. All the boys helped Dad with outdoor chores, trudging through drifts, finding the snow-covered feed and feeding the animals.
After lunch, we heard the jingle of bells. A neighbour had arrived with his team of horses and a sleigh to transport the kids to their homes.
He had to drive through fields because the road was one hard snowdrift after another.
By the time Christmas arrived, we had received many boxes of chocolates from grateful parents. Because of the blizzard, we all gained from the experience – in more ways than one.
