1923

From my diary , "Tried to get to school and just about froze myself to pieces." It was cold that morning; the thermometer just outside our kitchen window registered minus 14 below zero. That was before we had radios to tell us what the temperature was in Milwaukee or Hartford; and that was before we had temperatures in what is now called wind chill factor. It was snowing and the wind was howling around the house. Little ridges of snow were piling up between the window and the storm windows on the north side of the house. When my father and the hired man came in after the morning milking, they were covered with snow from the short walk from the barn. Looking out the windows, we could see the drifts of snow piling up behind fences and in cuts in the road. To tell you the truth, it was a true midwestern blizzard.

I was fourteen, a freshman in High School. I lived in the country, a mile from the city limits of Hartford, Wisconsin; the high school was a mile farther in the center of town. My father said, "We can't haul the milk this morning. " It was a mile to the cheese factory where we delivered our milk everyday. "No way we could get through". That was before the day of snow plows. Roads had to be dug out painfully with shovels and there was no way anybody would go out to dig out the road in this weather when the snow would pile up again in a few hours.

But I insisted on going to school. My mother begged me not to start, but I was stubborn, and I didn't like to miss school. Bundled up with all the warm clothes I usually wore on the coldest days, I ventured out into the storm. The snow was deep and I plodded through high drifts. When they seemed insurmountable, I would try to go around them, but then I had to climb over fences along the road. I was heading south and the blustery north wind pushed me forward, but that didn't make it any easier.

After a while, I began to realize that my fingers were becoming numb. I took off my mittens, and saw that they looked white. I knew that meant they were frozen. I had once seen a teacher rub snow on a child's nose when it began to turn white - the warmth of her hand defrosted the nose, but I didn't realize that. So I thought I should rub my hands in the snow. I stuck my hands into the snow drifts, but my hands didn't thaw out. I continued along through mounds of snow, buffeted by the howling wind, and chilled from head to toe. Finally, I got to my uncles's house at the edge of town, and I decided it was time for me to get help.

My aunt and uncle were appalled that I had come out on such a blizzardly day."Why did your mother let you out of the house on a morning like this?"

By then both of my hands and feet were frost bitten. My uncle brought in wash tubs full of snow, and in the warm kitchen, I rubbed my hands and feet in snow to allow the frost bite to defrost gradually. In pushing my hand through the snow piles I had scratched my knuckles on the gravelly road at the bottom and one or two fingers on that hand turned blue. Fortunately, the telephones still worked, and my aunt was able to call my mother to tell her I was alive, and was being thawed out. For what seemed like hours, I continued to rub my hands and feet in the tubs of snow, and my fingers gradually resumed a normal color except for the two that had been scratched, and that hand became very swollen. If I hadn't scratched my fingers, my whole hand might have healed faster or not become infected at all, as my other hand was never as swollen, and my feet were never affected at all, once they were defrosted. But with two blue fingers, I was afraid I might lose some fingers or maybe my whole hand.

I stayed with my aunt and uncle that night, and the next day, when the blizzard abated, my family was able to come and took me to the doctor. In my diary, I say "The doctor dressed my hand about 11:00".

Every day for the next two weeks I saw the doctor who changed the dressing and watched over my badly injured hand.

On February 17, I say in my diary, "Received a bouquet of flowers from the Freshman class."

On February 19, I wrote, "Could not go to school yet. Mother and I went down to the doctor with the cutter and Mike,"(our horse).

On February 20, I wrote "The doctor removed outer skin. It doesn't look so very bad. Pains a little."

On February 23, I wrote, " The doctor took off three finger nails. It hurt very much. Hand is otherwise painless."

On February 26, I wrote, "Am back in school. Hand looks much better".

On February 27, I wrote, "My second last finger was released from bandage. My hand was also released.

So the infection that had developed where I had broken the skin on my knuckles healed, and my hands looked normal once more. Finally, I had only a few scars on my fingers from a very unpleasant experience.

(This article published in the February 1994 issue of GOOD OLD DAYS.)