The Winter of the Big Snow
Sixty-seven years ago in March 1959 I experienced the biggest blizzard of my life and I had already seen more than one at that point. I was in grade 4 at Silver Stream school and there was already a considerable amount of snow on the ground. However, in March we had a 2 day blizzard where the white out was so bad my father had to follow the fence line to and from the barn to avoid losing his way. The wind howled around the house for two days and two nights and the driving snow fell relentlessly.
The barn was a quonset which is like a large tube cut in half lengthwise, sort of like an upside down U with the main doors at the ends. Ours had a man door on one side which opened into the milk room where the cream separator was. We had milk cows, calves, pigs, numerous barn cats, and three horse all housed in that barn. The point being, the main source for air supply in the building was at the ends. The snow fell in such quantity and the winds were so fierce that the drifts packed like cement between 10 and 14 feet deep.It drifted right to the roof of the barn effectively closing the ends and cutting off the air supply. When it was all over I was able to walk on top or the drifts right up onto the barn roof.
I found out later that my father shovelled snow all night long to open up the front of the barn so the animals wouldn’t suffocate. He was successful but in the process he put his back completely out and spent the next few days in bed unable to do anything but moan. That left the chores up to Mother and me as my brother and sister were too young. I was 8 and though I was used to doing my own chores, the weight of responsibility felt a little heavier than usual. Mum was a trooper though and we just went ahead and did what had to be done.
I remember getting up at sunrise the morning after the storm ended, bundling up in long johns, heavy socks, sweaters, parka, scarf and mittens. As mother and I made our way down the path Dad had shoveled to the barn, I had to look straight up to see daylight. To this day I don’t know how he did it but it wasn’t the first heroic feat he had accomplished in his lifetime and it wouldn’t be the last. We proceeded to milk the cows, run the hand crank cream separator, feed and water all the animals, muck out the stalls, and put down fresh bedding before returning to the house carrying the bucket of cream and the cream separator parts to be washed and scalded for the evening milking. We repeated that routine morning and night for about three days before Dad was able to get out of bed and help out.
It didn’t matter, we weren’t going anywhere anyway. The roads were drifted so deep it took more than a week for the snow plows to get to us. The telephone and power wires were about six inches above the top of the snow and one could walk on top and step over them if they were so inclined. The fields were mostly only two or three feet deep as the snow on the prairies always drifts wherever a ditch or line of brush creates a place for the snow to pile up against. But just like everywhere else the snow on the fields was packed hard and the horses could even walk on top without breaking through.
About the only thing this story has to do with school days is we didn’t have any for a couple of weeks until the roads were clear again. Then in the spring, floods washed out most of the bridges in the area and we were off for another couple of weeks. When we did get back to school after the storm, recesses and noon hours were spent building snow forts, digging tunnels and playing king of the mountain. You haven’t lived until you’ve been pushed backwards off a 10 ft. snow pile and land on your butt on the frozen ground, knocking the breath out of you. I’ve seen a lot of snow storms in the years that followed but nothing that even came close to the blizzard of ’59.
**Bill Gould** spent 43 years as a long-haul truck driver before trading the steering wheel for a keyboard to help fellow Canadians navigate the road of retirement. A freelance writer, published author, and editor of over 50 books, Bill co-founded *Canadian Senior Moment* with his wife, Marilyn, to provide a trusted space for seniors to find clarity, safety, and connection in the digital age. When he isn’t troubleshooting “tech gremlins” or sharing childhood memories of the Prairies, he can be found in his woodshop or working on his latest novel.