A southern boy and winter weather adventures

       Growing up in Tulsa, Okla., we used to get lots of ice storms and some decent sized snowfalls on occasion.
           I remember one early March when we got dumped on with 14-inches of snow. It paralyzed the city for three days. That was very unusual for that much snow during that time of the year in the Sooner state. 
          Back in the day there were no plows in Tulsa and I don’t think that has changed. The city didn’t clean off residential side streets and most residents didn’t clean their driveways or sidewalks.
          The morning commute on my paper route or to school was crunch, crunch and crunch.
          Most weather fronts didn’t last more than three or four days and the temperatures went above freezing and the snow and ice turned to slush.
         On occasion, the temperatures could drop to five degrees or so below zero. It typically only lasted a few days.
          I remember a big snowstorm that hit in January 1977, my junior year in high school.
         The snow started falling on a Saturday evening just after dark and by early Sunday morning, there were eight or so inches of the white stuff on ground. And the wind, it was blowing hard.
          That made delivering the big Sunday newspaper on our paper routes quite a chore. With the wind, snow and cold, my dad drove his truck and my mom and I would take turns delivering newspapers one block at a time.  I think we delivered our last paper around 10 a.m. We were usually done by 7 a.m. on Sunday mornings.
         I’ve witnessed a number ice storms and remember as a kid more than once pulling my old metal sled loaded with Tulsa World newspapers down the street as I trudged through front yards to keep from falling on my backside.
         I’ve also slid down a few driveways on my backside due to ice.
      And in December 1983, the temperatures hovered around 10-degrees for a high for about a two week period. Then it warmed up and was in the 60s on Christmas Day.
       I took plenty of tumbles on icy sidewalks as youngster, but thankfully, I never broke any bones in the process.
        Here in Iowa, the culture around snow is much different. Good ole boys love pushing snow in their four-wheel drives and going ice fishing for supper.
        What’s a foot or two of snow? A lot in my mind, but to some Iowans, it’s time to get out the snow blower and take a spin with the kids on their snowmobiles.
       Or maybe firing up the grill and inviting the friends over for a steak or hamburger cookout and some cold brews.
       When I first moved to Iowa in the late 1990s and was living in North English, I heard about an ice fishing derby on Lake Iowa.
         I never heard of ice fishing growing up in Oklahoma.
       I got up early and made my way to the lake. There were ice fishing huts dotted across the lake and people walking on the frozen water like it was Sunday afternoon stroll.
       “These people are nuts,” I said while shaking my head and wondering what the heck I had gotten myself into living in Iowa.
        I decided to return home and go back to bed.
      Some years later, I covered ice fishing derbies twice on Diamond Lake near Montezuma. Going against my better judgement, I actually walked on the frozen water to get a few photos. One fellow said the ice was 14-inches thick. Not enough in my mind!
      One fellow I was photographing was grilling hamburgers while fishing and he gave me one. At least the fish were frozen and fresh.
       Seems like it was around 2007. Debbie and I had driven to Tulsa to see my folks for a couple days. We were driving my mother-in-law’s car. I heard reports of a weather front headed our way. Going against conventional wisdom, namely that of my wife, I decided to head home to Iowa.
       Halfway between Tulsa and Joplin, Mo., we ran into an icy front and the further we got, the worse it got. Debbie wanted me to stop in Joplin, but I wanted to head north. I was thinking Kansas City. We got close to Nevada, Mo. and a truck went flying past us, slide into the ditch and spun around several times in a farm field before coming to a rest. I’m surprised they didn’t flip over.
       “Are you ready to stop now?” Debbie asked.
      “Yes,” I replied as we pulled into a motel for the evening.
       The parking lot was a sheet of ice.
      I leave you with this – stay safe my friends in this nasty weather. Don’t go out unless you have to and make sure you are stocked up on the essentials – milk, bread, butter and a couple steaks and a few pounds of hamburger meat just in case the boys come over.
        Have a great week and always remember that “Good Things are Happening,” every day.