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Susie from Philly

I was thinking about this myself, and what I definitely remember is that the snow was up to the top of the wrought-iron fence in our yard. I remember hopping the fence (it was easier, because of the snow) and making my way up our alley to the candy store. And yes, the snow was waist high - in grownup retrospective, about 30" high.

We used to have big storms all the time. What people don't seem to understand about climate change is that it's unnatural to have had the mild winters of the past decade.


From a blog post a long time back, when I'd put up a new theme every once in a while:

The last time I lived where it snowed every winter was 1962-1968 in DC. One of my lasting memories is of having a paper route delivering the now-defunct Washington Star during what was called the Blizzard of 1966. The paper was an afternoon daily with a Sunday morning edition; one Saturday it started to snow on top of the foot or so already on the ground. By Sunday morning when I got up to deliver the papers it was about three feet deep and drifting. I finally got the Sunday papers on the following Wednesday.
That memory I know is true.


When the snow was at your waist, how tall were you?

I remember drifts over my head, but I was a short kid.

mac macgillicuddy

We lived at the end of a cul de sac, too (of course, in those days, nobody said "cul de sac" yet; we just called it a "circle" but that's not this story). The plows piled the snow high and we dug tunnels into the mountains, played on top of them, and went down their slopes in snow saucers. Probably, the mountain of snow I remember piled up over several plowings, and across several snows, the driver putting all of the snow from the circle in the same place either because it was easier for him to turn that way in the truck, or because he liked the thought of building a mountain for the neighborhood kids (of which there were many). Perhaps both.

We had a lot of fun. It doesn't matter how tall we were relative to the memories. Snow seemed less menacing then. Now, I'm almost 52, and all I think about when it snows if what happens if I fall down.

Which makes the snow seem huge no matter how deep it gets.


I remember the difficulties of shoveling snow when the drifts are taller than I was, and the techniques I had to adopt, so at least some of my memories of blizzards past must be pretty close to true.

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