It seems that ever since we moved into town in 2010 our winters have vastly improved. Of course living at Silver Birch Lodge, other people now ensure that we are warm and comfortable!

The following is my take on events that occurred during that horrendous snowstorm – later labeled “The Storm of the Century.”

                                                 INSTANT WINTER

A late autumn snowstorm catapults the BC Northwest Interior into instant winter. The lights go out in our part of the world on Friday, October 27^th 2006.

A pall of silence follows the unexpected plunge into darkness. My ears strain for the comforting cacophony of sound from television, fans and refrigerator. But there is only an oppressive stillness emanating from out of the noiseless night. If I listen hard enough I believe I can detect the arthritic murmuring of evergreens as they struggle with heavily overburdened branches. I even think I can hear the mewling of mice scurrying beneath a rapidly deepening carpet of soft frozen moisture.

An electronic voice on the phone assures me that our electricity will be restored soon. We burrow in for the night under plump layers of bedding, snuffing out candles beforehand. Their fumes blend in with the acrid stench of half-burned fuel from the firebox of the wood pellet stove. Outside the snow falls, thickly and silently.

Morning dawns. Outside it is minus 10 and still snowing. Inside it is slightly warmer. The burners of my gas range provide us with both heat and coffee. We locate three small catalytic heaters and a propane lamp, along with corresponding miniature canisters of fuel. Last year’s purchase of an inverter capable of drawing enough electricity from a car battery to power the function of our pellet stove is put to the test. The temperature warms to where we can comfortably shed our winter outerwear. After breakfast I line a laundry basket with a garbage bag and using my long handled stir-fry pan for a shovel, scoop up wet gobs of snow from the deck. The resulting liquid is sufficient to wash and rinse the dishes, scrub the kitchen floor and flush the toilet — all with the same water. Environmentalists and my mother would be proud, I think smugly.

 I phone my daughters, “Don’t worry about us,” I tell them. “We are fine. It is just like in the olden days.”

A kindly neighbour roars up on his snowmobile: “Yes, we have drinking water and groceries,” we assure him.

Twelve hours later our inverter drains the final surges of electricity from both the car and truck batteries. But we cannot drive on an unplowed driveway and snowbound road anyway. Once again the stench of unburned pellets fills the air. The canisters of propane fuel approach empty and the phone has died. I no longer can compulsively dial BC Hydro’s voicemail, which spiels ever-changing time estimates for power restoration.

I transfer frozen foods to sub-zero caches outside on the deck, and stack perishables on buckets of ice stored at the bottom of the freezer.

The phone dies. The next morning we begin the exhausting process of clearing the massive snowfall from fragile rooftops. We tunnel thigh-high passageways toward the pump-house, car and snowbound driveway. I use up almost an entire can of lubricant spray attempting to repel accumulations of wet snow that stick to my shovel.

On Monday the road has been ploughed and our car hums to life. We take turns shovelling the heavy chunks of frozen snow that block our pathway to freedom. Then we are off to the bright lights and a warm hotel room, with even the luxury of viewing cable television. I soak blissfully in the bathtub until the water has cooled to lukewarm.  Two days later we learn that the miracle of electricity has been restored to our home.

Before leaving town I purchase a cell phone and an entire case of propane canisters. We’ve also ordered a generator. When winter officially arrives we’ll be ready.