Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let it Snow!

The above words are from a traditional Christmas song often heard ad nauseam leading up to the very day, and thankfully dissipates afterward as the new year approaches. Well, the sentiment of it of snowing prior was brought forth, however, only days before Christmas in my hometown of Denver, Colorado.

The city, state, and the airport, Denver International Airport, which is 30 miles outside city limits, were brought to a stand still. The snow fell from the sky, growing higher, like a steady stream of water, ready to overflow. The wind blew, cars slipped, buses skewered sideways, down the streets as the day grew late. Our state planners, our city planners, and mayors, statewide, urgently, valiantly (ahem) tried to illustrate (and implement), that they had a plan. It (the plan) and they failed.

Not as costly as Bush-Rumsfeld-Iraq stay the course plan—in fact—not even close, but it failed. The storm cyclone its way across the mountains first, obviously, then backed up into the valley of Denver, and then across the eastern plains of Colorado. The radar screens of the hyper-excited weatherpersons looked like a hurricane on land. Inch by inch the overjoyed, seemingly, weather generals, the sexiest of them Kathy Sabine, had command, albeit short lived of the news and newscast.

The storm’s intensity gave the brave at heart pause; and, the foolish the moments for their stupidity, while the dedicated made their way to work—by any means necessary.

By mid-afternoon of the second day, cars went abandoned, bus service halted, even Denver’s “heralded” light rail choked, puttered to a stop. City and a state plows raced to the cities—and roads of the state. Their attempts were futile. Airport runways, taxi ways, exit ramps, the equivalent of a city, laid dormant.

Mere days following after the storm, critics began to pick on the carcasses of the politicos failure. It was as if they, the critics, took glee from the “state emergency” by giving them permission to cascade all their pent up venomous vitriol at the leaders of the cities and state. This whipped the public into whine and what about me mode. They decried the inconvenience and how the plows failed to come down their streets during the storm.

Passengers, at the airport, from all stripes, family with children, individuals curled in corners, asleep, waited to join their anxious family members and friends across the country.

Of course, no one had seen such a storm since the “blizzard of 1982”, or the abruptness of the storm “spring of 2003.” No, this storm was different; it left cars scattered—and adrift in snow. People in shelters trying to find warmth—and comfort as the Red Cross did its duty. The spirit of community and togetherness lasted as long as the clouds and blue sky were obscured.

Slush filled streets, which refroze nightly, greeted vehicles and pedestrians alike in the daily melt down. Cars splashed. Pedestrians stumbled, staggered, and slipped along side streets, main roads, and thoroughfares. Stepping over high drifts, falling in indiscernible sink holes as locals tried to return to the daily grind.

No, this storm was different yet the same. It reminded us, how vulnerable we are; how spoiled we are; how powerless we are in the face of nature; and, how we take things for granted as Mother Nature—yet again reminded us, like little children, who have forgotten their manners that she has command over us and always will.





All photos are by Site Administrator, except the United Airlines terminal which is done by George Kochaniec, Jr. © Rocky Mountain News, and stock photo of airport by Photovault Aviation Museum