MomShots

Isn’t this a cute shot?  This is from when we drove out to the snow so the kids could play in the snow.  This is probably B’s first attempt at making a snowball.  Either she is making a snowball or getting ready to eat a huge mouthful of snow.  Both are very probable.

Really this post is not photography related.  It is a story from my life that I think is kind of funny.  I hope you will enjoy it and maybe get to know me a little better.    Read on…

I decided that I wanted to enter Shelle at BlokThoughts’ contest.  It is called Don’t You Hate it When and you tell stories about things that have happened to you and people (that means you) go vote on (for) it.  Previously I hadn’t any ideas of things to write about but then the snow has reminded me of a story that I think fits the Don’t You Hate it When boot.  

Here’s my story:

When Ben and I were engaged, we were living outside of Bellingham, WA.  I grew up in that area but Ben grew up in Southern California; Hesperia, California to be exact.  The High Desert.  Hotter than blazes in the summer and briskly cold in the winter, but not snow country.  I don’t think Ben had ever driven in the snow.  Ever.

So that winter it snowed.  It snowed a lot.  We had about a foot and a half of snow that fateful day. 

Now in some areas of the country when it snows, the roads are cleared with grand efficiency.  The snow is whisked off the road and this ice is swiftly dealt with.  Not so in Whatcom County.  Especially out on Gooseberry Point.  When the roads are covered in snow, they stay covered in snow for a good solid week until the one county operated snow plow can triangulate its way out into the boonies and sluggishly push the snow off the road.  

We get pretty adept at driving in the snow.  I had a bit of confidence in my snow driving abilities.  I loved my then-fiance’ but I didn’t have the same amount of confidence in his snow driving abilities as he had.  

One such snow covered day we found some reason why we had to risk the roads and drive into town.  The reason escapes me now, but I am sure it was a good one.  A very, very good one.

So Ben and I bundled up and excitedly got into his little white Toyota Tercel.  A car that had probably never seen a snowflake in its life since he borrowed it from his parents in SoCal.  We were ready for an adventure and a chance to spend some time together.  

As we slowly backed out of the driveway, I knew we were in for an adventure.  Ben kept saying, “it’s just like driving on sand.  It’s no big deal.”  

I kept screeching, “Be careful!  Watch out!  Go slower!”  

As we got into a slow grove, everything seemed to be going well.  Ben was having fun testing his limits.  I was enjoying the steady flow of adrenaline that was pumping into my bloodstream because my wonderful fiance was having fun testing his limits.  A fishtail here.  A half broodie there.  That sort of thing.  

That is until the road had an incredibly tight hairpin curve down a little hill.  We managed to inch our way down the hill’s crazy curve while somehow managing to avoid going into the ditch.

Now is the time when I should mention the ditches.  These aren’t your little city gutters or even a little foot deep hollowed out indention on the side of the road where a little road run-off might play.  These are 3 to 4 feet deep ravines on each side of the road that help to keep the swollen Nooksak river and Mount Baker’s melting snows from flooding the valley down below.  These could be considered major aquatic thoroughfares in some parts of the world.  These suckers are deep!

So we are now at the bottom of that little crooked hill and the road is relatively straight.  Ben is driving pretty well.  I am screeching at him pretty well.  We were a good team.  

He is still so excited about driving in the snow and he had not tested his limits far enough so he continued to swerve and skid around the snowy, icy road.  This straight stretch of road, with little traffic was too tempting for him as he gunned it and played around in his little white steel toboggan.

We were both laughing at this point and enjoying the winter beauty of the country.  That is until we slowly, ever so gently started sliding off the road and gracefully landed in the ditch; nose first.  

We mightily heaved our doors open and climbed out of the car.  Standing in knee deep snow we surveyed our predicament.  The back wheels of our car were not even touching the snow anymore.  The nose was buried in snow.  We were genuinely stuck.

Then a large, beat up, grey, kid-napper style van pulled up behind us.  He carefully stopped and got out of his vehicle.  Sauntering over to talk to us was a grungy, bundled up man with a beard and sandy colored hair poking out the bottom of his ‘Made in Nepal’ stocking cap.

As he walked up to us he started talking.  Maybe ranting, even.

“My friends all call me Alaska Joe.  I am such a good snow driver that they have all nicknamed me Alaska Joe.  When ever it snows, my phone rings off the hook because everyone wants Alaska Joe to drive them places.  Drive them to the store.  Drive them to town.  Drive them to their mothers.  Alaska Joe gets asked by everyone to drive them all over.  

Alaska Joe is such a good snow driver because he is careful and slow and doesn’t take risks.  I understand the snow and the snow understands me.  I am Alaska Joe! 

Now it looks like you need some help here.  You need someone to pull you out of that ditch there.  It looks like it would be a pretty easy job.  Just tie a rope onto your axel and pull you out.  No problem.  Alaska Joe could do that.

But I won’t.  

I saw you driving back there.  You were swerving all over the place.  You were going too fast.  You were not driving safely.  You were not being a good snow driver like Alaska Joe.

Alaska Joe could pull you out, but I won’t.”

Then Alaska Joe got back into his cruddy old van and slowly, very safely, drove off.  Leaving Ben and I next to our up-ended car with our mouths open and our jaws around our knees.  We didn’t know if we should be mad that he wouldn’t help us when he could have or if we should laugh because he was such a nut.

We chose mockery.  Good old fashioned, immature mockery.  We were strutting around with our chests puffed out saying, “I’m Alaska Joe.  I’m such a good snow driver but I won’t help you.  You’ve got a lesson to learn here.  I’m Alaska Joe.”  We laughed about that guy for a while.  His ranting.  His ability to switch from first person to third person in the middle of a sentence.  His general Alaska Joe-ness.  It was all hilarious.

Luckily for us some real neighborly fellows, in a big truck with a winch rolled by and kindly helped us out of the ditch.  No stories about their nicknames.  No chastisement about our snow driving.  Just nice guys who ended up helping out a couple of knuckle-headed kids in love. 

So Don’t You Hate it When you slide into a ditch and Alaska Joe gives you a lecture on how he is such a great snow driver and then tells you he that he could help you but won’t, then Alaska Joe gets in his van and drives off leaving you stranded in the cold? 

Well, if you made it through that long story, please go leave a comment for Shelle and tell her to pick my story, OK?  ;)