Sometimes Life's Biggest Challenges are Just Small Hills

Many times after a heavy snowstorm Mom shoveled a pathway from the top of the hill to the bottom of the hill so we would not have to walk on top of the soft drifts to get to the bus. This was done in the wee hours of the morning while we were still nestled under our piles of quilts. We never heard her leave or return, and she never said a word about her backbreaking night. But as we started the long walk to the bus, we knew we were loved. She feared that we would fall in the high drifts and not be able to get out. We loved walking on top of the snowdrifts. But until they had crusted over, we had to stick to the shoveled out path. Once the snow crusted over, the pathway went unused.

Taking the car up the hill road in the winter was impossible. The roadmen never plowed it out since it was only our family on the hill, and the school bus never traveled a long road for one family. The swamp road had a smaller hill and once in a while the county roadmen would bring the snowplow in that way. The head road supervisor was a neighbor, and my buddy.

Herb was a big man. In my little girl eyes he was a giant, as big around as he was tall. We loved having him come through. He was not allowed to ever plow out anyone’s driveway, but sometimes he felt there was no other way to get that big snowplow turned around than to make a clean swipe of our circular drive behind the house. We kids looked forward to climbing up into that huge truck. I always made sure that I was the first one to grab onto that big hand. As Herb pulled me up into the truck, I announced, “Urb, Urb, urry, urry, urry! Mom’s hot tocolate’s dettin’ dold!” I loved sitting next to Herb while he drank his hot chocolate. I felt so important!

After the snowplow had been through the swamp road, it was smooth sailing for sledding until Daddy had enough ashes from the coal furnace saved up to spread on the hill. It was always disappointing when we saw Daddy take the tractor out to the swamp road with the buckets full of ashes. But spreading the ashes assured Daddy of getting a car all the way to the house and he wouldn't have to walk the hill to get home.

Mom did her best race driving in the winter on the swamp road. Daddy always said we didn’t need the roadmen to clean out the ditches; we had Mom doing a fine job of that! I think she saw the swamp hill as a personal challenge. She was able to get a running start in the lowlands where the swamp met the road. By the time she hit the hill she had to be doing 60 MPH. This was always exciting. The anticipation of possibly making it this time was exhilarating! I envisioned us to be much like the “Little Train That Could.” My little mind would be rapidly repeating, “I think she can… I think she can…I think she can.” As the tires started spinning at the crest of the hill and the car began to slide backward my heart was saddened for Mom. Sometimes she was successful at backing down all the way and trying again. Usually she just slid into a ditch. I don’t know how many times we had to walk home to get the tractor to pull the car out of the ditch. But even that walk home was fun. Of course, in respect for Mom’s yet another defeat to the hill, we always started our walk in silence. But by the time we got home, our laughter could be heard a long way off.