Print5 a.m. Friday morning: I wake up shivering. Why is it so cold in my house? Thermostat is on. Power’s on. Heater’s making noise. What’s up?
Oh no. I try to start the stove—no dice. I run outside to check and confirm my fears. I am completely and totally out of propane.
It is now 6 a.m. and T-minus four hours until the snow is scheduled to start.
I call the emergency hotline and wait on hold forever. Finally, I get a person who informs me that my local branch does not take emergency calls. How is that possible? I’ll have to call them when they open at 8.
8 a.m. Call. Busy.
8:01 a.m. Call. Busy.
8:02 a.m. You guessed it. Repeat every minute until…
8:15 a.m. Call. An answer! They’ll do their best. Maybe not an answer after all.
8:25 a.m. A call back. Because I’m not on their regular delivery schedule, I’m at the end of the list. No guarantees. Why am I not on their regular delivery schedule, by the way? Because when I changed the account name from “Sprieser Sporthorse” to “Lauren Sprieser,” that went out the window. Awesome.
Chaos ensues for the next half hour, with angry phone calls, begging, bribery and a few rather inappropriate four-letter words.
9 a.m. Huh. Turns out the weatherman was off by an hour—the first flakes are starting to fall.
11 a.m. Fortunately the snow’s off to a slow start, and the roads are staying clear; it was in the 40s yesterday and the day before, so the ground’s pretty warm. And saints be praised, because here comes the propane man. Hoorah! I could kiss him. Instead, I give him a muffin.
4 p.m. Got through all the horses, and now we have a game plan. Sprieser Sporthorse owns one plow, which fits on the front of our four-wheeler/dump vehicle gismo. It works a treat, but only up to so deep, which means that when the snow really gets going we’ll have to plow every 3-4 hours. My dad volunteers for midnight, and my mom wants 4 a.m., so lucky me! I get 8 p.m. Easy-peasy. My dad, who is recovering from knee surgery, helps me put the chains on the Kubota’s back tires. And then we wait.
6:30 p.m. It’s already starting to get ugly out there, probably 6 inches. I start plowing early.
8:30 p.m. WOW! Am I glad I got going when I did. I plowed for two straight hours, and will do another half hour after I do night check for the horses.
Midnight: I can hear Dad out plowing. Power’s still on. We’ll be fine, nothing to worry about. Back to sleep.
5:30 a.m. I wake up and look out my window. Dang, you can barely tell where the road is! I thought Mom was going to plow at 4. Maybe she overslept.
Oh, and the power’s out. Great. Generator’s going strong, which means we have enough lights in the barn to get us going and running water. No heat, though. Crap. Run extension cords and space heaters as necessary.
6 a.m. Saturday. Ring, ring. It’s my mom.
“Your dad drove the plow off the road. Can you get the truck?”
Feed horses, stomp out to the truck. There’s at least 18 inches on the ground, and it’s not due to stop until 10 p.m. tonight. I get the truck down my driveway, down the road and up my parents’ driveway, getting royally stuck and unstuck once, until I come upon the Kubota.
