Never in my dreams have I imagined spending the night in this town 30 miles west of Columbia.
It was 65 degrees on Friday, 60 when we left home for St. Louis on Saturday. By the time we left the lou at 9 pm it was 37 degrees. As rain fell while we headed to Kansas City, we watched the temperature steadily drop.
“I think those raindrops are white.”
“No. Surely not.”
“Yep. It’s snow.”
But by the time we reached Columbia it was all heavy rain again and we decided to keep driving.
Not five miles past Columbia, in the middle of nowhere, the last precipitation switch began. Thick white flakes the size of quarters, pounding as hard as the rain a few moments earlier, were illuminated by our headlights to appear as millions of little lights rushing toward us. They swirled and attacked and mesmerized. And they hid every evidence of white lines on the interstate road surface. Of course semi’s flew past at 70 mph, as we struggled to keep ourselves on the highway.
I was ever grateful when we discovered a Day’s Inn and not a psycho motel at the first exit after a harrowing driving experience. We were among many who spent the night at that oasis for the same reason.
Four inches later the snow began tapering off and we were able to leave at checkout time. Daylight made a huge difference. After about 40 miles, the pretty white stuff stopped completely and the roads were dry as old bones.
I am grateful for hotels and the ability to pay for a room on a moment’s notice, for warmth and shelter, and for a safe journey.
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| the view from our window |
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| these birds were not happy |
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| one day it's spring, the next it's.......the other s word |
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