Snow day? What’s that?
This is one of those “when I was your age” stories.
The picture above is me with my pony, Peanut. It was taken sometime in the summer or fall of 1951 when I was eight years old. That fall, I lived with my grandparents and went to school at Pleasant Ridge, a one-room school about a mile from the farm. The school was located between two asphalt roads. From our side, it was accessed by a narrow, dirt lane. From the other side, the road went down a very steep hill. The road from the farm to the asphalt was gravel and there were two or three hills between.
That fall, I entered the fourth grade and rode Peanut to school. I’d tether him to a post, give him hay and water, and store my saddle in the shed that held fuel for the school stove. I can’t remember if the stove burned wood or coal, but I think it was wood.
Sometime that semester, we had a snowstorm. The drifts in the lane to the school were too deep for me or Peanut to walk through. Grandpa couldn’t even drive the pickup through them. To go around to the other blacktop and down the steep hill was about six miles.
Even though Grandpa had a tractor, he still had a team of work mares. To get me to school, he harnessed one of the work mares and pulled me up behind him.
I’m not sure how the teacher got to school that day. She had to drive from town.
Now, when I hear of schools being closed because of snow, I just shake my head.