UP FRONT: The strange, welcome balm of a big winter snowstorm

It’s not that I mind winter. What I mind is when we get two months of winter weather in one day.

Last week, after a long delay, we here on the Camas Prairie woke up to more than 2 feet of snow blanketing our world. Streets were clogged, schools were canceled, the power was out and a breathtaking hush enveloped the town like the silence you hear just before the curtain rises on the elementary school Christmas pageant.

I heard even Idaho County’s one and only stop light down on Main Street was on the fritz for a few hours. This is a situation that could cause major chaos on a normal day but since nobody was moving that day, chaos was averted.

Fortunately the electricity where I live came back on after a few hours so I could have my morning coffee, which is just better for me and for the rest of humanity. Even I would not want to meet myself on the street if I haven’t had my first infusion of caffeine for the day.

After a short pause to take in the wonder and beauty of such a pure white morning, people get to work shoveling out their sidewalks and driveways. It’s part of our prehistoric DNA to not let Mother Nature get the upper hand. Most of the time we never think about how close we are to extinction — we have cars, electricity, frozen waffles and so on — but when Old Man Winter lets loose and dumps a few feet of snow on your world overnight, freezing everything in its tracks, it comes back to you how fragile life really is. Survival is at stake and you never know when a saber-toothed tiger might be wandering down the street, hunting for a child or an unsuspecting adult to devour.

I have known people who have lived for months in the most isolated areas of the state without modern conveniences and contact with the outside world. How do they do it, I wonder? Do they have enough food to eat? Does it drive them crazy not to talk to another human being for long stretches of time?

Not one of these people I have known thought it was a disadvantage to be so solitary. They stocked up supplies to last them through the winter. They got by just fine on cold, dark nights playing board games or quilting or doing some other craft by the glow of a kerosene lamp. They tended the cows and horses during the day and they made friends with the wildlife that frequented their abodes.

And being away from people that long didn’t seem to bother them a bit. In fact, lack of social interaction with others just seems to have made them appreciate people all the more. Some of the friendliest folks I’ve known have been those who spent half their lives in virtual isolation.

That is, perhaps, the secret to world peace.

Meanwhile, I’m getting a workout shoveling snow from my driveway and sidewalk. Zeus, my German shepherd, is dashing around the yard as I pelt him with snowballs. A neighbor comes over to help me shovel and all up and down the street people are checking on their neighbors, making sure everybody’s safe.

Before the day is out, the city snowplow roars by, clearing a lane down our snow-clotted street. These guys have been out since midnight and I hear they’ve scraped enough snow together from all the streets in town to build a snowman to rival the Jolly Green Giant.

It happened in just one night but the cold and darkness of the past couple of months melted away in a massive winter snowstorm that cooled our tempers and warmed our hearts.

Hedberg may be contacted at khedberg@lmtribune.com.