In retrospect, snow is fun!

A few weeks ago, I awoke to see large, graceful snowflakes floating down from the sky. The scene launched a cascade of cherished memories of snow as seen through a child’s eyes.

In the first frame of my time machine, my mom and my preschool self are cutting doilies into various snowflake shapes, attaching yarn, and hanging them from our kitchen window. Their pristine whiteness mirrors the scene on the other side of the frosted pane.

In another frame, with the din of the black-and-white TV in the background, my sibs and I are eager to laser in on Salty Brine’s pronouncement of “No School Foster-Glocester,” knowing it could be a harbinger of good news about the Cranston Public Schools. For the Sigal children, all-day pajamas and lunches of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches dipped in Campbell’s tomato soup was a fine way to spend the day.

In junior high, my memory shifts to thoughts of my dad and how he loved the first snow of the season. Overcoming the elements was his ultimate competitive sport – and what better way to assert himself than behind the wheel of a car! Could there really have been a correlation between reports of parking bans and his sudden craving for a pizza or hot fudge sundae from the Newport Creamery in Garden City?

That era also recalls long afternoons in Roger Williams Park. With the ice on the pond several feet thick, we skated and sledded and played hide-and-seek among the tall, icy reeds.  We were joined by every other family in Rhode Island, or so it seemed. You took your turn on the slope and then cleared the landing to make way for the next toboggan. Numb fingers and toes were the cue for a hot cocoa break. 

In high school, daytime sledding gave way to night skiing at Yawgoo Valley. It was fun, decidedly more daring than sledding, and very grown up!

Little did I know at the time that these experiences would prepare me for my freshman year in college – and the Blizzard of ’78. Challenging for so many, what unanticipated fun it turned out to be for me! The quad was at once pure, from the fresh snow, and so alive. Dining hall trays became flying saucers as friends from the south played like children in their first live snow.

With all of this going on in my new, independent world, I didn’t know that my most cherished memory would be unfolding in my childhood home. Three or four days into the storm and its snow-clogged aftermath, hospitals began running out of food. Our family business is wholesale produce and what follows is among our proudest lore. 

Under circumstances that are still unclear, phone service was restored to our home. The voice of Rhode Island National Guard Maj. Gen. Leonard Holland was heard on the line. (Full disclosure: although I never met General Holland, I knew the Jewish community was proud to have him as the state’s top soldier!)

The conversation went something like this: “Irving, we need to get food to the hospitals and oranges to the diabetics. Time is running short. We need what’s in your warehouse. A tank will be by to pick you up within the hour.” In hindsight, it was more of an order than a conversation, but my dad was only too happy to help.

This time, instead of dashing off for a pizza or hot fudge sundae, my dad climbed into the hatch of the tank in our suburban driveway. Off he went, heading north to the produce terminal building on Harris Avenue.

A convoy of tanks greeted his arrival, and the tanks were loaded and deployed to Rhode Island Hospital with military precision.

With no Instagram or social media to bear witness, the story, like in a game of “Telephone,” has morphed harmlessly over the years. I can’t wait to pass it on to my two young grandchildren when we are fortunate enough to share a first snow together.

SUSAN BAZAR (sbazar@jsari.org) is executive director of the Jewish Seniors Agency of Rhode Island.