On the way to Eau Claire that evening the snow had blown in rather large drifts across the road. We attempted to plow through said drift and found ourselves off the road in the middle of the drift. A warm week had left softened snow that had frozen with this storm, resulting in slippery, difficult-to-get-traction berms and ditches. I quickly decided that when you ask before you leave the house if you should grab your boots (mittens, snow pants, real winter coat...) - the answer is a resounding 'yes' - and perhaps a shovel.
Dad dug out the car with the long-handled ice scraper, Mom kept the engine from dying, I sat back and took pictures of the hazards blinking on the snow. I laughed at the images of the firey snow. I had gotten both of the images I had wanted in one!
A truck-load of helpfuls showed up and helped us push. I found that I did much better standing in the snow (in my mother's boots) while I was leaning against the stuck car. After slipping several times I succumbed to the ice and gravity and found myself flipped boot-side top-side. I had a wet bum for the evening but wasn't nearly as chilled as Dad ended up being. I suppose in the right Little House episode this would all end in pneumonia and Mom keeping every one alive with lots of boiling water. As it is, it's just a few pictures on the internet and a disconnected muffler.
We weren't even late for our Christmas dinner. (Which was, by the way, amazing. My sister has been an incredible cook for years - lucky Mark.)
