Stocking the Bomb Shelter

It is barely mid-January here in the Gateway to the West and it’s already 5o degrees Fahrenheit and sunny. The birds are singing and acting all fluttery, like they do in springtime. What’s really funny, though, is that exactly one week ago, it was quite a bit colder and the radio and TV stations were foretelling a major snowstorm, which is pretty unusual for St. Louis.

My son and I were at our local grocery store picking up a few groceries. I still can’t shake the European habit of shopping daily for dinner, so we only had four items in our basket and we were debating whether or not to use the self checkout, which stresses me out a LOT but thrills my nine year old to pieces. That’s when I noticed huge line-ups at every single checkout. I mean, folks were lined up a dozen carts deep at every checkout, hunched wearily against over-loaded carts.

We joined the 10-items-or-less line behind several other people with 20 items or less in their baskets. The long wait gave us lots of time to observe shoppers. One optimistic guy and his girlfriend, who strolled by arm-in-arm with a bottle of wine and some fresh fish, stopped in absolute shock at the sight of the queues before sighing and resignedly joining one. I saw another lady approach the line and nearly cut in where people were politely leaving a small space in the main thoroughfare for other carts to pass. She turned quickly, returned the food and left empty-handed; I’m sure she had a perfectly lovely dinner at a restaurant!

Due to the space shoppers were leaving in the line-up for others to pass through, it was a bit difficult to tell where the line-ups went. Several shoppers (mostly confused looking men who probably don’t do the shopping very often...) innocently joined the front half of the line, only to have others in line call out for them to get to the back of the line. Sentiments were mixed; on one hand, there was a sense of camaraderie that comes with a shared threat, like an impending natural disaster. On the other hand, though, as minutes ticked away and shoppers grew impatient, one sensed that civility was one line-cutter away from a civil war.

I had never seen the store so busy. The clerks were shaking their heads and calling frantically for management. At first, I didn’t get it. It was my son who called it. “They’re stocking up, Mommy”, he said, when I mused out loud about the crowds. “For what”, I asked. “For the snow”, he laughed. He, of course, had been fully briefed at school where the kids (and the teachers) were desperately praying for a snow day. Do the prayers of kids and parents cancel each other out....?

Well, darn it, he was right. I looked around. Carts were overflowing with bottled water, canned soups and other non-perishable supplies. I wasn’t sure whether I should feel foolish with my four perishable items or smugly above it all. For a few seconds, the Canadian in me said, “well how much snow are we talking about for goodness sake?”. Then, the mother in me said, “I have absolutely nothing to serve my little family tomorrow...” I don’t think I come from pioneer stock. I think I come from people who sailed over on a boat and fished for dinner every morning.

By bedtime, there had been no snow, despite predictions of a storm before the early afternoon. In fact, the sky was fairly bright and the few beautiful fluffy flakes swirling around seemed out of place, like a strange dream. By night time, though, the sky had darkened and even the nocturnal animals were quiet. While we slept, several inches of snow fell, blanketing and paralysing the city. “Hurray”, screamed the kids when they woke up. “Woof woof”, said our dog who, at six months of age, had never touched snow and thought she could bark it away. “Groan”, I said, as I dusted off the old snow shovel and got to work on the driveway.

Well, truth be told, it was absolutely beautiful and the fresh, cold air was invigorating. I saw several people shovelling, although some of them looked like they really hated it; they’re the ones with the small serviceable shovels who cleared just enough space to get the car out. Others shovelled with obvious joy, like kids from a southern climate seeing snow for the first time. They were the ones with big, wide shovels, who spent a long time, lovingly moving the snow and creating perfect mounds of snow alongside the driveway.

Coming from Toronto, I rushed out to shovel the snow, but it was not for joy or excitement. Back home, the first snowfall would be followed by a freeze-up that would not let up for the next four months. There, you have to clear all the snow from your driveway right away or it freezes there like a bumpy, dirty, grey rug. If you dump the snow in big mounds right beside your driveway, it’s possible that you won’t be able to open your doors fully for the next four months. That pile of snow on the road at the bottom of the driveway better look nice too, because you’ll be staring at it all winter long and rubbing the car up against it as you turn in.

Ahh, how I miss the snow ... NOT! It was cold enough here after the “storm” to take away your breath and freeze your finger tips, but after just a few days, the temperature started to rise. In fact, it climbed more than 40 degrees in the past four days! The thick blanket of snow started to separate from the ground, like a snake shedding its skin. Now, I can see grass everywhere and, in some gardens, bulbs are poking up already. The sun is still thin, as it is in the winter, but the days are longer and warmer.

We survived the natural disaster. Time to brush off the lawn chairs and get ready for summer!