Most of the houses I’ve seen on the east coast are made of wood, are two or three stories high, and have a pitched roof. We lived on Long Island, New York. Our house was made of stucco, had a flat roof, and was one story.
The house was really small – two bedrooms, one bath, living room and kitchen. The garage was built onto the house. It sat back off the highway and was a whitish color.
You will understand why I’m telling you this as time goes on.
My dad had heard on the radio that a huge storm was going to hit Long Island late that night. He told Mom, “There is extra coal in the basement for the furnace. And plenty of wood in the garage.”
I got up the next morning (Monday). My room was dark, but the rest of the house had candles burning. Mom was cooking in the kitchen. I thought, “Hmm, this is strange.” (Mom only cooks on the weekends.) I got dressed and walked out to the kitchen. I couldn’t see out the windows. Mom called Dad to eat breakfast.
After we sat down, Dad said, “We are snowed in. I’m trying to take the garage doors off so I can dig us out. So far, no luck. But don’t worry, someone will dig us out.”
Tuesday came and went. By Wednesday I was scared. No electric, no radio, no phone. All we had was each other.
I heard a noise and told my dad. He said, “It was someone hammering a pipe or something like it in the garage.” But it sounded like someone on the roof with a shovel or a broom. Whoever or whatever it was, it went on most of the night.
The next day (Thursday) we could see a little light. We were so happy. By noon, people were bringing us food and drink. They told us that the house looked like a giant snow ball. They didn’t think that people were inside until we didn’t show up for work and school.
We thanked everybody and they went on to work.