This year we traipsed up the mountain to celebrate in Big Bear. My brother Scott and his wife Mary have a cabin up there, and we filled it to the rafters. Scott, Mary and their kids were already there when we arrived, as were my parents and Mary's mom, Fran. My other brother Smed, his wife Brandy and little Johnny arrived later in the afternoon.
It was gorgeous outside--hot and sunny. The kids immediately took to the street on their scooters. I don't think I saw them the rest of that first day.
We spent Thanksgiving Day cooking, gorging on appetizers, and herding the kids outdoors. After spending most of the day inside, my mom and I decided we needed to get out a bit. We packed up Nathalie and almost-three-year-old Johnny and drove to the lake for a walk. The sun was shining, but the semi-frozen lake reminded us the nights were still chilly. The ice provided endless amusement, as Nathalie tossed rocks onto it, creating air bubbles.
Johnny loved throwing rocks into the lake. He could scarcely believe we let him; he's usually reprimanded for throwing things. He was not as happy about the 15 ducks that flocked toward us, thinking our rocks were a free meal coming their way. They continually squawked and rushed at him, which slowed down the rock tossing and aggravated him.
"Stupid dammit ducks!" he cried angrily (and appropriately) at them. I turned to my Mom to see if she'd heard what I heard. "No bad words, Johnny," she called out, confirming that she had. I could barely control myself. If that had been Mark, he'd have been in big trouble, but for some reason, when other people's little kid's cuss, I find it beyond amusing. (Johnny's phrase became the phrase of the weekend--in fact, I've found it appropriately describes just about anything bugging me!)
The ducks didn't bother me much, but three vocal, aggresive Canada geese certainly did. One of them, as tall as Johnny, climbed out of the water and waddled toward us, honking angrily. I grabbed Johnny, told Nathalie to run, and backed outta there as fast as I could. We retreated to the boardwalk, where my mom watched the same goose approach another family who really was feeding the ducks (with food, not rocks). She saw the goose snap at a woman, biting her on the hand.
"Stupid dammit goose!" I whispered to my mom, who giggled.
We returned to the house to find my brothers had finished their turkey cook-off. Smed fried his and Scott smoked his--both tasted amazing. The table was loaded with wonderful food, but the family protested when Mary set down a steaming dish of yams.
"They need more marshmallows!" said my father, he of the notorious sweet-tooth.
"I mixed them in the yams this year," Mary explained. And with that, they promptly disappeared. I think Nathalie, Mark and my dad had three heaping servings each. I've never seen a vegetable eaten so fast by my family before!
By Friday, we were good and relaxed. We'd spent three days eating, watching movies and just relaxing. Smed and Brandy decided to go home; Johnny wasn't sleeping well, and when Johnny doesn't sleep, nobody sleeps.
My mom kept worrying about snow. Scott and I dismissed her concerns, mostly because it was sunny and warm outside (and because we didn't have a TV). We didn't know she'd been watching the weather reports on the news, which were predicting a 30% chance of snow on Saturday, the day we all planned to leave.
"It'll just be a light dusting," Scott said. Boy, did those words come back to bite him!
When my parents arrived at the cabin Saturday morning, they were freaked out. Though they'd only driven a couple miles, it was through powdery snow and zero visibility.
It was very obvious we weren't going home that day. No matter to me; the only plans we had were to pick mistletoe with the Cub Scouts at a nearby camp. I knew the Scouts were leaving soon, so I called to warn them of the snow and improbability of reaching the camp. They decided to soldier on, but as our street was covered in fresh powder and nary a snow plow in sight, I told them we wouldn't make it.
In case you're wondering what four inches of fresh snow looks like, here ya go:
Except for my worried mom, we were all giddy and smiling as the thick snow fell. Though the house now had 10 occupants and no departure time in the near future, we didn't mind. It was kind of fun to be snowed in.
The kids couldn't wait to get into the snow. They suited up, grabbed some sleds, and ran into the street. Unfortunately, the new snow was powdery and four inches deep, and instead of skidding off, they merely sunk down into it.
"Go, sled!" Gabi yelled at her useless ride. She yelled at it again, then finally climbed out of the hole she was sitting in and ran off.
Gabi, Nat and Grant had their fill pretty quickly, and retreated back to the warm house. Mark, however, couldn't get enough of it. He'd been outside for a long time, and I started to worry a bit. I searched the yard, where I found him hunched down on all fours, face planted squarely in the snow.
"I'm eating the snow!" he said happily. An icy white beard covered his face, but couldn't hide his smile.
We hoped to clear out by Sunday, but the news greeting us that morning was grim. Another four inches of snow had fallen, and the first four had iced over during the night. ("Stupid dammit snow!" I told my mom.)
We listened intently to the radio, and heard that chains (which none of us had) were now required to get down the mountain. The news only got worse as the day went on; a car crash had closed off the front way down, and the back way was now crowded. The usually one-hour trip was now taking 4-5 hours, and was slippery with ice. We'd be staying another night.
I helped Scott plow the driveway for the second time in as many days. It was harder going this time, as the surface had frozen over. Where we'd shovelled snow the day before, we were now shoveling snow and ice and trying not to fall. I even cleared off the entire front deck, bulldozing the snow onto the ground below.
"Don't worry about that stuff," Scott told me. "It'll all melt off anyway."
But I just shrugged. "Not like there's anything else to do," I told him. I'd finished reading five magazines and most of my book. After sitting around the house for four days, it felt good to be something active. And then I realized, Oh my god, I'm so bored, I'm actually shovelling snow! It killed a good hour, though.
As dinner time neared, there was a collective groan at the mere thought of one more meal of leftovers. Mary called the local pizza joint, and was thrilled to hear they were delivering. All I have to say is thank God for small mercies and snow tires!
Monday morning arrived, and with it, a sense of urgency. It was fun being snowed in a day or two, but we were getting cabin fever. The kids were thrilled to miss school, but the adults were getting a little gritchy. I busied myself by taking photos of the ever-growing icicles that grew jaggedly along the roof line. They were so cool!
Finally, around 11 a.m., we got some good news. The roads were open, and chains were no longer required. Still seemed a little hard to believe, as the street out front was still covered in snow. But the temperature slowly passed 35, then 45 degrees, and the ice turned to slush.
We packed up the cars, and headed out. After a quick lunch, our caravan headed down the mountain. When we finally hit sea level, we were amazed to see sunny skies and 70 degree weather. It was like travelling to a distant land in another season.
So our Thanksgiving holiday turned out to be a little longer and a little colder than we initially expected. We got a few added days at the cabin, but we were warm and dry, and had plenty of food stocked up. We had a lot to be thankful for, and though my mom swears she is done with mountains and snow forever, it was a really great holiday.
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