Howl Back - Snow Stories
Your Snow Stories
I went skiing at Sandia, on a Wednesday afternoon, ditched classes. I had never skied before and was a run-away skier. I took out a whole row of people standing in line at the lift. Very embarrassing–they were yelling "runaway skier!!"
-- Alex Davis, '89 BSCS, Carrollton, Texas
It seems that we receive a big snowstorm once every ten years or so in Albuquerque.
One storm that paralyzed the city occurred during the early 1980s–maybe in the 1982-1984 period–when I was a graduate student at UNM. My wife and I were living at our townhouse on Copper in the student ghetto at the time.
When the snow paralyzed the city, we headed out on our cross-country skis. We skied across campus several times, over to Roosevelt Park, and even down Central Avenue. Major snowstorms like these are at once elemental, awe-inspiring, and intimate.
-- Jonathan Eldredge, '85 MA, '93 PhD, Albuquerque
My snow story was about a cozy pioneer experience. I live in Sile, New Mexico, which is between Cochiti and Santo Domingo Reservation. We had about two feet of snow, which broke trees and downed power lines. Power was out for two days, so the community was snowbound without electricity. Lucky for us, we had just purchased food and wood for our wood stove. We broke out the camping equipment for cooking and just enjoyed a couple of days of reading, card playing, crafts, and shoveling snow.
The neighbors were a real community. The farmers in the area brought out their tractors and cleared the roads and driveways for each other. Those without heat stayed with others who had heat. People were outside working, playing, and communicating. What a pleasant change from the busy world we live in. For two days we were forced to work together, slow down, and just survive.
-- Paula Reno, UNM Physical Plant
What Big Snow of 2006? I am and was in New Mexico but seem to have missed it. Of course it may have been big by Albuquerque standards but… :) Perhaps it's big in the sense that so much of the state was involved.
As far as I can see, it wasn't that there was a big, much less a "Big" snow but that it so frequently snowed. There for a while, we were getting snow about once a week, every week, from a week or two before Christmas until about, what, two weeks ago? The week-and-a-half or two-week respite was nice except that it turned everything into a sea of mud for a while.
As far as amount is concerned–and I can only compare what I got here in Edgewood with other places I've lived–it was only moderate. When I lived in Los Alamos, such snowfalls were common. I remember once when a winter storm passed through and dropped a foot of snow in 24 hours. Then, right on its heels, another passed through and dropped several feet more on top of the previous foot. I used to remember how many feet that second storm dropped but…
Speaking of Los Alamos, I didn't have off-street parking the last place I lived there and about 20 years ago, we got a good snowfall over night–at least a foot, I suppose. For some reason we needed to go somewhere next day so I got up and dug out our vehicles. Because we were, as always, parallel parked on our street, I dug a path in front of the front vehicle, between the two, and behind the rear vehicle and a space on each side of each and, of course, from them down to the house. My theory was that we'd simply drive forward to get out and whoever returned first would enter my path and drive to the front so the remaining vehicle could simply follow behind.
Well, just as I was setting the shovel down on the porch, one of Los Alamos County's snow removal crew came down our street in a road-grader with the blade angled to push the snow to my side of the street, filling in my hard-earned paths and, worse, because it was rather a wet snow, compressing it into what I can only describe as semi-ice. After a suitable period of cussing, I returned to the street and again dug us out, a much more difficult job this time not only because of the compression but because the snow had been extruded under both vehicles. This time, as I returned to the house after digging us out, a pain shot down my leg and, next morning, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I could barely walk to get back to bed. I was laid up for two or three weeks and suffered twenty years of varying sciatica as a result. Indeed, it's only recently since I began taking riding lessons that it's gone away.
Now, of course, the snow is back. There looks to be something between four and six inches of snow in my yard again. The snowfalls themselves wouldn't be much of a problem except for the drifting here in Edgewood and, I suppose, in other flat areas of the state. That, and the propensity for the powers-that-be to close I-40 at the drop of a snow flake, cutting me off from elsewhere. I suppose that that's because of drifting snow but, because it's closed, one can't really go out and check, can one?
A few years ago, my late hunting buddy and I were on our way to hunt quail during a snowstorm at least the equal of any that we have had here in Edgewood this winter. He came by to pick me up and, rather than try to go through Albuquerque, we went through Moriarty, down route 41 to US 60 to Bernardo and then I-25 south from there. It was crossing US 60 that the snow fell with a vengeance. The only real problem we encountered was getting behind someone driving at what felt like walking speed. That and the usual problem with driving in snow–everything is white and it's hard to decide where the road ends and everything else begins…
Speaking of closed Interstates, I can remember a trip from Cincinatti, Ohio, to Niles, Ohio in the early '60s. The route was largely up I-71 and then across I-76, I suppose, through snow and blowing snow. It was after dark and I suppose that I drove most of the night, seldom faster than 35 mph on highways designed for 70 or 75 (in those days). As I recall there was between six inches and a foot of snow where it hadn't been packed down by traffic, possibly more in some areas. I was driving a VW beetle and had to be at work next day so I simply followed an 18-wheeler, figuring that he was high enough that he could see better than I could and big enough to be readily visible to me. The highway wasn't closed; anyone who didn't relish driving through the snow simply got off at a convenient exit, or pulled off onto the shoulder, and waited the storm out. I guess that must have been before governments decided that they had to protect citizens from themselves and from every possible hazard.
Well, it's snowy and miserable outside; writing all that was amusing…
-- Charlie Sorsby, '88 MSEE, Edgewood, New Mexico
I started the day by coming in to work (technical writer for the state of New Mexico) and saw the snow begin to fall around 9 a.m., Friday, December 29. At around 1 p.m., with about six to eight inches already on the ground (and it was still falling), they finally released us to go home. I got home and watched the snow continue to fall and fall and fall continuously until 3 p.m. Saturday afternoon! It was spectacular! I couldn't wait to get outside to go for a walk, which is one of my most favorite things in the world–to walk during or immediately after a snowfall.
What I didn't enjoy as much was shoveling my driveway to dig my way out on Sunday! I had a backache for days!
-- Diana M. Sandoval, '92 BA, Albuquerque
Here is my heartwarming snow story… I live in the far northeast heights where the snow of '06 hit the hardest. I have an outdoor cat (Marvel), who prefers it that way, even in the most inclement of weather. When the snow started to really fall, Marvel was in and out of the house with our dog Thor. He went out Christmas night and stayed out when the big storm hit. The next morning I went outside to feed Marvel and to check that he was warm and safe. There was no sign of him. Thor searched the yard as best a chihuahua could with the snow being above his head! I figured Marvel would be back soon, and didn't worry about it. For the next week I kept going outside to feed Marvel and figured he was fine since the food kept disappearing. On January 2, I realized that I was feeding the neighbor's cat, and Marvel was still missing. For the next few days (I had to return to work on the 8th) I walked block after block calling Marvel and shaking his toy in hopes that he would hear it and come running from whatever shelter he took. No luck. On the 8th, I returned to my job, which happens to be three blocks from my house. I was obviously sad and my coworkers noticed. After work, I overheard on a walkie-talkie that an orange tabby kept running in the building and in and out of one of the portables at the school I work at. Could it be Marvel? "Does he have a yellow collar?" I asked. "No," was the reply. "I think it's pink." "Does he have a freckled nose?" No reply. My heart sank, but I thought I'd go out and check, just to be sure. I asked for the portable to be opened, and sure enough, it was Marvel! He had been living in one of the portables for over 2 weeks! He was very skinny, but other than that, fine. I took him home, and he was the happiest he had been in a long time! He was even happy to see Thor. Needless to say, Marvel rarely leaves the yard anymore, especially not in the snow!
-- Sara Passariello, '02 BA, Albuquerque
I came to the UNM in January 1970. I had come from a very snowy Washington DC and really was enjoying the warm weather we were having in Albuquerque. At that time you had to go to register for classes in person. I knew I needed certain classes so I got up early, got dressed, and ran out of Hokona Hall to head for the registration area. I had not looked out the window and when I stepped out the door I discovered that it had snowed about an inch overnight. I was wearing flip flops and all I could think of was the horror stories of not getting the right classes, so I just started walking very carefully. As long as I lifted my feet straight up and down I was fine. I caused quite a sensation standing in line but I did get the classes I needed.
-- Linda Chantry Handy, '71 BA, Alexandria, Virginia
This is my golden anniversary from UNM College of Pharmacy. Back in the '50s we used to have some wonderful snowfalls. Mother Nature would decorate us as many as 10 times a year with her white beauty. Mesa Vista Dorm was my home for two years, then I moved down to l815 Gold SE for my last two. Those were exciting years from the snow standpoint, because of the beauty of the white trees throughout campus–which were offset by the terrible dust storms of spring. Those dust storms were horrendous. It seems the dirt would just pour through the concrete blocks of Mesa Vista dorm so after the storm (and we had more dust storms than we had snow storms) there would be a half millimeter of dust covering everything in the room–papers, desks, blankets, and floor–what a terrible mess.
If all you wanted was UNM commentary, then it is over. However, if you wanted my memories of other snowstorms, then I can relate to the two years after graduation, when Uncle Sam invited me to Landstuhl Army Medical Center in Germany (the 1000 bed hospital where all our Iraq and Afghanistan wounded military personnel come first to be treated before being sent home) where I spent almost two years in the LAMC hospital pharmacy. (One other interesting thing about this hospital is that it was built by Hitler in 1938 as his main military school–equivalent to our West Point–until we took it over during WWII and transformed it into a modernistic hospital with all the latest facilities.) What I remember lots of is snow. Living halfway down the hill from the hospital in the little town of Landstuhl was rough during heavy snowstorms that would bring us 12 to 36 inches of snow several times a winter and that would prevent me from driving to the hospital so I would have to trudge up the hillside through the backwoods through the dark morning at 7:30. The snow would be all the way up to my knees and sometimes my waist but it was the only way to get to my military duties at the hospital.
They were exciting times–and youth does have its advantages at times like those. I was drafted into service at the age of 22. Everyone should get that kind of opportunity–especially the opportunity to see the beauty of the snowladen tall trees halfway around the world and halfway up the hill from the edge of the Black Forest. Memories remain entrenched.
-- Dennis S. Pena, '57 BSPH, Albuquerque
Forget about the big snow of 2006. I was laid low by a big snow of 1943. I was working the midnight to 8 a.m. shift for the Army at Kirtland Field as a radio operator (Morse code). One morning the usual bus from the airport to town didn't appear, so I trudged through the snow home from the airport to the Pi K A house, at 600 North University (where there is now a parking lot). I got a really bad cold, and ended up for several days and nights in the UNM dispensary, treated with one of the new "wonder drugs" of the sulfa variety.
-- Dick Sweetland, '43 BSEE, Farmington, Connecticut
Snow photos from the College of Education by Susanna Gilbert, '93 MA