I sit in a familiar coffee house in Downtown Eugene on a chilly Sunday afternoon, as the air entraps Oregon’s famous fog, which likes to linger longer than its usual paid astronomical visits during the fall months – just as winter looks to start burst its door in less than a week – the chill factor of the winter cold isn’t much of a deterrent to those who live in the Willamette Valley of Western Oregon. Evidently, it remind of those days where the fall solstice is about to walk out the door and off the job and transforming its duties to the Winter solstice until Spring.
I’m not talking about the utterly winterstorms just yet, I’m admiring my past, when kids used to tease me back in the days of my childhood, when I had once predicted – it would snow that very day. They not shrugged and brushed it off, they made all kinds of noise and music, that it wouldn’t snow has I had predicted. But, the most amazing thing happen along the way, a few tad hours later, it started snowing as we were out and about on our recess either before lunch or thereafter, the flakes started falling slowly and the snow started piling up as the day went onward.
By the time, we got out of school – the city was heavily blanketed with white power – indeed the snow had fallen! What a beautiful sight to see as the snow stuck to the ground, my prediction had come true, it was later thought, I had some kind of magical power to predict anything? – but, it was the empowering thought and the wisdom of one’s sub-conscious of mind bogging knowledge of predictions, the psychic mind was at it’s best to begin with and with the help of some kinds souls across the universe, the prediction of snow that day was the presence of Christmas magic or was it?
Why I can’t remember the exact date or the exact year, when this story took place. But, it has been such an inspirational thought of my childhood, where I once stood my ground and predicting the most wonderful even in memory, while growing up.
I’m still reminded of the Winterstorm of 1969. I recently read an old newspaper clipping of how the storm came about in the middle of nowhere, as a Pineapple Express whirled up a fanfare of destruction and large amounts of snow in a phenomenon that could never be explained – A link to the Eugene Register Guard news story of the surprising impromptu winterstorm to ever hit the Pacific Northwest came about with chaos, school and business closures, since dumped nearly three to four feet of snow in parts of Eugene-Springfield, Lane County and a trail of destruction from Oregon to British Columbia.
It was January 1969, when it all happened. Three days of non-stop snowfall practically shutdown the entire region, as if it was just hit with one of those heavy banded Nor’easter’s, folks on the east coast experience each winter – but, it was close in a way, more of a Nor’wester to say in a way.
But the day, I predicted the winterstorm of the early 1970’s as a young child during my wonder years, I lay back in my office chair reminding myself – those where the days, when we were kids, had “the most wonderful time of the year,” as January 1969 took us into the post-Christmas winter wonderland.
I remember the roof of my grandfather’s barn caved-in – due to the heavy weight of snow, shattering the roof big time. It took my grandfather and my Uncle an entire Spring and Summer to replace the roof before the Fall semester kicked a few months later.
Nearly a half century of memories is a stark reminder, we live in a world where our lives are shared with the memories of our past and future generations.
Passing down the stories we tell from generation to generation is the historical significance of the life we live today. The future is very much different, than, what we experienced as a generation, that was born in the mid 1960’s and seventies.
I believe the twenty-first century is looking to leave a lasting mark, as a new generation of stories are to be told by the offspring of those we bear as children and their grandchildren – as we witnessed it today in our lifetime.
Perhaps, that was the prediction that endured me to reach into my past and tell the story of a generation, that lived through one of the most surprising snowstorms of their generation? How we perceive the future and to preserve it with the stories to be told is – something to be witnessed by the offspring we bear and that of their town as we muster into a later years as adults, parents, grandparents, writers and bloggers, it is yet to be carved and etched in stone has history is written.