Stranded in heaven, the Blizzard of ’93
When thinking of ideal scenarios, the idea of being stranded somewhere usually doesn’t come to mind. For me, 30 years ago this weekend it did.
Imagine thinking you’ll be spending the night somewhere for a night, and not leaving for nearly a week, including your 11th birthday, and at a place you’d never spent the night before.
The night of March 12, 1993 — a Friday — would kick off one of the most unique, memorable, and most fun experiences of my entire life. It’s a time I think about at least weekly, if not daily. In fact, like many people I know up and down the east coast, it was a two-week span of chaos and adventure that subconsciously shaped many of the decision-making processes and habits we carry with us as adults when winter weather looms.
I was in fifth grade, and I had invited my best friend Cheyenne Medders to spend the night at my house for the first time. It wasn’t even a cold day at school, and spring had been in the air already that March.
On the way home, we went to Movie Gallery and picked up some Little Caesars next door (predating the hot-and-ready format). Now Greater Community Bank fills the entire span of that building, but back then it was a powerful dynamic duo, especially for a 10-year-old kid on a Friday night.
Snow was in the forecast, but very few people — short of WRCB’S Paul Barys — were saying to prepare for a major event. As usual... “Paul said it would be like this.” And he was right. It wouldn’t be a 3- to 5-inch snowfall.
As the forecast loomed larger through the afternoon, Cheyenne’s parents decided it would be best that he come home, and invited me to come along and spend the night. We loaded up in the old blue Volvo 740 and headed to town from Dews Pond. It started snowing when we were leaving the Golden Gallon beside Krystal, and by the time my parents dropped us off at the Chitwood Farm in Resaca, the ground was already ghost white.
It would be a regular Friday night for a pair of fifth-grade boys, cutting up with Cheyenne’s younger brothers Carson and Will. I can’t even remember looking out the window to watch the snow. What I do very vividly remember, however, is waking up in a cold house with the brightest white light coming through the windows and the sound of howling wind and thunder outside.
Chey and I got up and peeked out the window and it was really a sight to behold. Single-digit temperatures, snow, high winds, downed trees, lightning and thunder are nothing new to Northwest Georgia by themselves, or even in more usual combinations — but all together? And in mid-march?
Cheyenne’s dad, Jule, got us all dressed in warm clothing, and Chey and I hopped into his Jeep Cherokee to drive down the hill to his grandparents’ house, where a good portion of the family would hunker down and combine resources. Halfway
down the hill, the old mule was churning the snow just fine with its trusty 4.0-litre inline six engine, but we weren’t getting past a huge fallen tree without a chainsaw.
So Chey and I took off on foot through the high winds and snow drifts, and we finally got to safety and warmth. It would be there, in Mescal and Bo’s large den with a stone fireplace, that I’d have one of the best weeks of my childhood.
That Sunday I turned 11 and substituted a Little Debbie Devil Square for a birthday cake.
The Medders, Chitwood and Tennant families took as good care of me as anyone’s parents could ask. I can’t imagine the worry of my folks back on Covington Bridge Road, without power, phone (or water since we had an electric well pump), and no way to find out how me or my little sister, Leiah, were doing since we were both at sleepovers.
Once the dangerous winds and lightning were gone, us boys made the greatest sled track known to man. How we didn’t break a bone, or a neck, I’ll never know, but man it was glorious. The sun was so bright by Monday, we all got snow burns and had our faces peel off a week later. Cheyenne’s cousin Jesse walked from his house a good piece across the farm up Chitwood Road with his big ol’ yellow Lab one day and joined us. Like a scene out of the 1880s, someone fired a rifle off the back porch to signal to Danny and Melea that their son had made it to his grandparents’ house safely.
I still love a good Devil Square cake, and the crackle of a wood fire to sleep beside. I also have spent my entire adult life filling up my gas tank, parking my cars in the garage or driveway pointed towards the road, buying extra food and water, and stocking firewood when snow or ice is in the forecast.
You never know when a 3- to 5-inch snowfall can turn into 3 feet with drifts over your head and two weeks of complete chaos. I know the adults in my life have more memories of worry and anxiety from March of ’93, but for me it will always be the most fun I ever had at a sleepover.