Diary of a First Year Teacher: The Storm of the Century OR My Night In Stir

I have only been home a few hours. It’s Saturday afternoon and I just put in 28 straight hours at school. Ten of those hours were planned for, the other 18, not so much. I had heard rumblings about an approaching storm for a couple of days previously, but for crying out loud, this is North Dakota. Snow falling from the sky and horizontal winds are not out of the ordinary. You make appropriate decisions based on current information, and you go about your business. We knew that we might have to deal with some icky conditions, but school proceeded as normal and we all assumed that, while we might have to slow down a bit to make it home safely, no one doubted that they would indeed make it home. If I had known ahead of time that coming home at the end of the day would be out of the question, I might have packed a little differently. I loaded up the usual daily items for transport to school: laptop, lunch, graded papers… the usual stuff. Had I known what lay in store for me, I would have added change of clothes, toiletry items, extra food items, pillow, blankets, and possibly earplugs.

But I didn’t know what the day held in store, so I went on my merry way to another day of teaching bliss. Around noon, someone came into the building saying that there was some moisture floating around in the air, but it was pretty warm yet, and everything seemed fine. Imagine my surprise when the superintendent came on the loudspeaker at 1:00 saying due to the weather, school would be dismissed at 1:30. Okaaaay, well boys and girls, let’s start picking up the classroom and getting ready to go. “Go where?,” they wanted to know. “Home!” I could see they were confused because they can tell time well enough to know that it was way to early for that, but they did as they were asked and we had just begun to actually grab coats and backpacks when we heard our beloved Super’s voice magnified once again. “People,” he said with a weary sigh, “We’re not going anywhere just yet. You can’t see a thing out there, so we’ll stay put for the time being and see if the weather clears enough to run the buses later.” This has been a long winter for school administrators.

The rest of the day, from an instructional perspective, was pretty much shot. Are we going? Are we staying? We puttered around filling time as we listened to the wind pick up in intensity and watched the snow swirling outside of our basement window begin to thicken the air. Before long, our window to the outside world became sticky with the precipitation and by mid-afternoon, we could no longer see out at all. Still waiting, waiting, waiting on an announcement…..

About 2:30, the edict was delivered. No buses running, no one going home save for those whose frantic parents who were brave enough to drive in and pick up their anxious children. Now there was a new announcement over the loudspeaker… the office was desperately trying to match students with storm homes. “What’s a storm home?,” my southerly friends may be asking. A storm home is a policy put into place for days such as yesterday. People in town volunteer to take in students and staff in case of inability to get kids home. North Dakotans (the lifers anyway) understand the devastating swiftness of nature. They are ready to make alternate plans in a moments’ notice. To that end, at the beginning of the school year, each child is asked to secure a home in town willing to be registered as their place to go in a moments’ notice. A difficult thing to do, if you are new to the area. Turns out we had a quite a few kids with no storm home listed. That’s where it got interesting. How many students could we realistically hold at the school with the amount of staff we would have? How many extra kids are the town homes willing to take on for a night? Logistics up to the ears!

After the kids left whose parents claimed them, we began loading students on the bus to head to their emergency homes. As my students began to prepare to leave, I took inventory of how they seemed to be handling the confusion and uncertainty. My kids rocked our wing of the school with a cheer when it had been announced that there would be no going home. “Sleep over at school!” they had chanted over and over. But now as belongings were gathered and instructions given, I could see fear in some of their eyes and one tender sweetie had silent tears running down his face. He was trying so hard to be brave, but was losing his battle with every new change of plans. I went over to him and pulled him close. “Will my mom be able to come for me?,” he wanted to know. “I don’t think so, sweetie. The storm is too bad and we don’t want her to be in danger trying to get here.” Big blue eyes searched mine for comfort, his fear palpable. “You are going to a home here in town and you’ll be with other school kids, so that will be fun. I promise you that they will take good care of you and that your parents will come for you as soon as they possibly can. You’ll be fine. I promise.” Tears coursed down his white cheeks. He nodded hesitantly. So brave, so brave. “Would it help if I sent a stuffed animal with you and when you feel lonely or sad you can give him a hug?” The sudden spark in his eye told me I had just handed him a coping tool and he nodded in affirmation. Four students would be spending the night in someone else's house, and four stuffed animals were dispensed.

The announcements began for loading students by families onto the shuttle bus taking kids to their destinations. I walked with the first group to see them safely loaded onto the bus. As I approached the double front doors I realized I could not see anything past the windows. I could only hear the horrible sounds of the wind howling around the corners of the building. Everything past the glass was absolutely white. What were we thinking sending anyone outside the warm cocoon of our building? I grabbed the hand of my bundled first grader and opened the front door. The ferocity of the storm found the vacuum of our secure confines and filled it in an instant. We were instantly soaked with swirling, blinding snow, driven by sixty mile an hour winds. Bucking every instinct in my mother’s heart, I assured my overly bundled student that all would be well and sent him into the worst chaos of nature I had ever witnessed. Six steps from the front door my child disappeared into a white blanket. I slammed the door shut, soaked to the skin.

One by one, or in pairs, my charges left until I had only one student left. We found the others who were also stranded and tried to feel our way into the late afternoon and evening hours. Like lost lambs, we had no handbook or protocol to follow, so we tried to figure it out as we went. They would need to be fed eventually, and we couldn’t just let them run wild, so supervision was a must. What WERE we going to do until bedtime? And how could we make them comfortable for the night? We had no blankets, no pillows and nothing but hard floor. More questions.

The children eventually gravitated to the gym and soon informal games were being organized in small groups. The teachers decided that the first order of business was to take inventory of the students in our care, and supplies second. We listed who was going to be with us for the duration and then set about looking for creature comforts. A perusal of the freezers and pantry yielded hot dogs, chicken nuggets, and chips. Good enough. We dug out the concessions popcorn popper and let them munch away until supper was ready.

With children accounted for and supplies listed, I invited the younger students down to my room to get the Legos back out, do an art project, or whatever might keep them occupied. I ended up with 10 or 12 kids in my classroom and they were good as gold. They were polite, quiet, and happy. It was a joy to be in their presence. Their role play was enchanting. A couple of kids put together a cooking show episode. Others played “therapist” (a sign of our times?) I was the Queen of England – complete with paper crown.

Supper was orderly and subdued. They played until they were told time to snuggle in for the night. The 3^rd and 4^th grade teacher lives close to the school and volunteered to do a search-and-rescue at home for pillows and blankets. He came back wind blown, soaked to the skin, and loaded with creature comforts. We pulled mats from the gym into the computer room, dispensed blankets and pillows, and popped in a movie to soothe and relax during this critical time when young children remember that they are away from home and hearth and begin anew to miss parents.

I was filled relief that my daughter, Hannah, was at the school with me. I didn’t need to worry that she was somewhere else, away from my protection and care. The only other time my children had experienced an all-nighter due to inclement weather was when Hannah was in second grade. We got the call that our children would be sent to their designated storm home, and relief that they would not be out in the storm was quickly replaced with concern that they would be away from me. There is an innate need for we mother hens to pull our chicks close and cover them with our wings. I saw the hens on our farm do it many times. Mothers protect children. That’s just the way we’re wired.

I really wanted to see what it looked like outside, but every window and door was crusted over with sticky snow and ice. I tried to open a door, but they were all drifted in. We found one door that was protected enough to still have opening space. Whew! At least we wouldn’t be trapped when things blew over.

By 10 p.m., quiet began to descend and younger children were snoozing peacefully. The junior high and high school students were segregated into separate areas and rooms had the first names of students posted on each doorway so that we could know where our charges should be. The adults huddled together in the workroom and shared stories of calls coming in to us.

I knew my oldest son was headed home from Grand Forks for spring break, so earlier in the evening I had shot off a quick text to him, hoping he had either beat the storm or delayed his departure. My worst fears were realized when his reply text informed me that not only had he been caught in the worst of the storm, but in fact was at a complete stand still on the interstate. Visibility was non-existent, so cars had simply stopped moving, forced into waiting right on the road. A stone dropped into my stomach. My son was stranded in middle of Nature’s Fury, and I was powerless to help. We would just have to wait for a break in the weather.

Now my focus was divided. I had to stay professional and give the children in my care my attention and best effort. But my heart was in a car in the middle of I-94 waiting for something to happen. Trevor and I were both at the mercy of this terrible storm. The difference between us was, I was warm, fed, and sheltered in a sturdy enclosure. He was smart enough to stay with his car and had enough fuel to run the engine for heat every little bit, but his reality was no food and enveloping darkness as night fell. I asked my Lord to send his angels to protect and care for my boy and began my vigil of waiting for word that he had found safety somewhere.

With the students down for the night, I headed to my classroom to get some work done for the coming week and wait for word concerning Trevor. No point in wasting this valuable time at work! I found a spurt of energy and accomplished quite a lot. Before I knew it, it was midnight. I headed to the workroom to make some copies, and found some of my coworkers gathered there, along with a young man I had never seen before. We were introduced and the details of his story emerged. He had been within four miles of our town, headed to Bismarck, when he became another victim of the sudden blizzard. He had been forced to stop where he was and had been sitting in his car since two in the afternoon. He waited for a break in the weather. And waited. And waited. Finally, about 11 p.m. there was lull enough that he could make a run for it. He somehow found the lights of our town and headed for the inviting beacon of the school. He would wait there until conditions improved. One fact is a certainty. As the days and weeks unfold post-blizzard, countless stories will come to surface of harrowing near misses, suffering, and those like me, waiting to hear from loved ones at the mercy of the storm. Everyone will have their own story. The most incredible ones will be repeated over and over.

About two a.m., I could no longer keep my eyes open. I couldn’t find any leftover blankets or pillows, so I grabbed my Columbia parka and tried to get comfortable in the upholstered chair in my room. Exhaustion was on my side, and I quickly dozed off, but woke up about an hour later cold and stiff. I could hear the sounds of the mournful wind clawing at my window, desperate to find entrance. My first waking thought flew to my son. Trevor, how are you right now, honey? I walked over to the kindergarten room hoping someone had missed blankets in there, but that room had obviously been pillaged of all sleeping gear, and I ended up taking one of the curtain panels off my theater area and wrapped it around myself. I felt like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With The Wind. I’m not sure it provided any real warmth, but with a prayer on my lips for my stranded boy, I did manage to fall asleep and slept pretty soundly. I was awakened by the voice of our secretary telling me I had a phone call. I glanced at the clock. It was 4:30 in the morning. Intuitively knowing the call concerned my son Trevor, I ran up the stairs as quickly as my stiff, cold body would let me. My husband’s voice was on the other end. “Trevor was picked up by the National Guard. He’s in Steele at the ambulance building and he’s fine.” Relief and thanksgiving flooded my heart. I headed back to my “bed” and quickly fell into the sleep of a relieved mother. Every family member was safe. I could be stuck at the school for days on end, and it would be fine, because inconvenience pales in comparison to genuine danger.

I awoke at 7 a.m. to familiar voices in the hall and light at the window. The first thing I noticed was the calm on the other side of the glass. The storm had broken. Now we just had to wait on the arduous process of digging out. I headed upstairs to see what needed to be done. Most kids were already up and running around, and coffee was brewing in the workroom. Everyone anxiously inquired about Trevor’s welfare and shared my relief (I love these people!). Then we went about serving cereal and juice to our weary children. Still, I heard no complaints, no self-pity, no negativity of any kind. Adults and children alike were cheerful and cooperative. I really think I’m in some kind of Mayberry time warp. This place is almost too good to be true. If Andy, Barney, and Aunt Bee walk through the door, I’ll know the jig is up.

Blankets were folded, pillows and mats stacked, floors swept and kitchen squared away. I spent a few minutes in my room putting play items away and vacuuming the floor. It didn’t take long and students were happy to help. Now I could think about getting outta’ here! The account coming to us was that HWY 14 was open and passable. That’s MY road! The 3^rd/4^th grade teacher volunteered to take three siblings all the way to their home 40 miles away, and he promised to call the school and report the condition of the road. I promised I would wait for his assessment. I took stock of who I could take with me that lived in my direction and began making phone calls to parents. By the time we were ready to leave, I had five extra passengers.

The promised call came through that the road was indeed passable, although eight cars off in the ditch had been counted along the way. We were loaded and on the road by 11 a.m. I dropped off my passengers, greeted relieved parents, and finally headed to the comfort of my own home. I was disappointed to see that my husband’s pickup was gone as I pulled in the yard, but within minutes of walking through the door, he walked in with Trevor in tow. United! How wonderful to all be together and excitedly share our individual stories.

Trevor had abandoned his car when the National Guard showed up and, taking only the clothes on his back and his laptop, he climbed into the back of an open air truck and had endured 25 miles of freezing temperatures at the grueling pace of 30 mph. But he was no worse for the wear and had an amazing story to add to his list of “most incredible adventures.”

Students delivered home safely….check. Family reunited….check. Now all I wanted was a hot shower and a long nap. I had just stepped out of the shower when my daughter popped her head in my bedroom door. “There’s someone here to see you,” she informed me. I threw on my robe and slippers, put up my wet hair in a clip, and padded downstairs to see who my visitor might be. The mother of one of my students was waiting for me. She had gone into the ditch yesterday, had to abandon her car for the night, had just gotten it pulled out when immediately the oil light came on. She drove the few miles to our house and wanted to know if she could leave her car in our yard until her husband could return with a trailer to pick it up. We shared storm stories while we waited for her husband to arrive. At one point in the conversation, she sheepishly apologized that she had missed the last parent/teacher conferences. “Let’s do it now!” Well, why not?? And so, wearing my favorite pink fuzzy robe, and lavender massaging slippers, I conducted a parent/teacher conference right in my kitchen. Pretty sure that’s a first for any teacher, any time, anywhere. Unless someone corrects me to the contrary, I’m going to claim the title.

Finally, about 3:30, I crawled into my delicious bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. Sleep came instantly and I was out cold for two hours. When I awoke, there were amazing smells coming from the kitchen. My sweet husband was making German streudel, one of my all-time favorite dishes. And so, over my favorite meal of meat, potatoes, and steamed dough we sipped hot tea, laughed, shared, and reveled in the simple joy of being together after an extraordinary experience.

I am thankful for many things, but topping my list today are the following things: Caring, competent coworkers, well-behaved students for whom I have a fresh appreciation, the National Guard, the kindness of strangers, electricity that did not fail us during the ordeal, cell phones, a loving husband, children I adore, and my Heavenly Father who looks out for us always.

In a very real way, I feel as though I have been baptized by fire into the ranks of teachers who must go the extra mile. The funny thing is, I wasn’t all that upset about being forced to stay the night. Not only was it OK, it was almost enjoyable. I am still tired, but am also filled with a quiet joy that all ended well. Those of us forced into the history books by the blizzard of March 11,^th 2011 will never forget the events of that night. Cold bodies can be warmed and empty stomachs easily filled. The only residue is the memories we will harbor a lifetime. Those memories, at least for those in my circle, could have been far worse. I am grateful.