I'm so grateful to have survived that record-breaking bitter cold last week. Grateful that family, friends and pets are safe, and that we made it through. When it is that cold, the stakes are at a whole new level: our very survival. Wood heat, a twenty-year old North American vehicle and patience made all the difference.
I feel like we are all getting better at cold. In fact, it almost seems like it is business as usual as our great city fixes water main breaks and clears the snow. Heating companies go over and above to help folks with boiler problems, and unbelievably, a cat missing for eight months finally comes home. 44.4 degrees below zero must have been a convincing argument.
I'm not sure if we have always been good at coping with cold weather. Perhaps acceptance grows with age and experience makes us calmer. But I remember a few stories not so long ago of peril and survival.
One story was about fifteen years ago when my husband was heading home one frigid -35 C night after finishing his midnight shift at St. Pat's. We had just had a baby and lived in a cabin about 30 minutes from town.
When he didn't arrive when he should have, I began making calls. He was nowhere to be found. After an hour, I started to panic. Should I bring in more wood? Call the neighbours? Finally, I decided to call the RCMP. The person on the other end of the line joked "he's out having beers with his buddies." I argued that there was absolutely no way that was true. After a second call, they still wouldn't take me seriously as I pleaded for them to check the highway. I think they did end up sending a car eventually, but the sexism of that response still bothers me to this day.
Meanwhile, my husband was about halfway home when his vintage truck said goodbye to this world with a seized engine right on the highway. Visibility was very low with blowing snow and no one would stop. He was not dressed that well for the cold.
In desperation, he looked around and headed for the first house he saw. There was a diesel truck running in the driveway, so he knew someone had to be home. It is a whole other story that he was able to make a call, a miracle really. Somehow, he managed to connect with a friend who headed out straight away to rescue him.
But when his friend arrived with a near empty gas tank, the two of them had to drive all the way back to town for a fill-up, and then turn back around and head home. In the end, three hours late in minus 35, and he survived!
There is something special about Prince George. Our latitude gives us a little bit of everything. It is not always comfortable, and sometime very scary, but the challenges often bring us together as a community as we soldier on through the seasons. This resonates with me because I know I am a part of something beautiful: full of heart, still becoming.
