Wayfaring Strangers

In the South (USA), I have observed that there are a couple of hot-button topics for which nearly everyone has a story, and they will gladly tell it -when prompted - with passion and zeal:  snakes and snow.

If you don't believe it, the next time you are in Georgia, in any random conversation, find a way to insert a quick tale about a snake you encountered last summer.  They will in turn, tell you their own story of an incident involving a much larger, deadlier snake.

It's the same with snow.  Where I live in northwest Georgia, we may get one or two "dustings" of snow each year and a major snow (more than one inch) every two or three years.  So snow is a big deal. 

Big snow events affect everyone and serve as a benchmark for timing other events: one of my uncles on my Dad's side was born during the Ice storm of 19_?_ .  Nearly anyone can tell you about the Blizzard of '93 and when I moved back to Georgia after a whirlwind tour of Alabama and Tennessee back in the seventies, people had tales of the Ice storm of 1973.  In that particular instance, there were tales of transformers exploding and trees falling.

This past Wednesday, we had a brief cold weather snap that resulted in some icing. Since that time, I have already heard several stories.  Here's mine:

Knowing the weather forecaster's penchant for sensationalism, I was not overly concerned about the prospect of icing on the roads on my drive home.  I became a little concerned when I found my car coated with ice.

I noticed right away that cars were moving much slower than normal.  I made a few "test" stops when no one was near, jamming my brakes to see if there was any skidding - but experienced none.

I was redirected onto a different route down Dugdown Mountain - apparently there was trouble down the slope.  My typical trip home from the location I worked that day is less than one hour, the last twenty minutes takes me along secondary roads.  By the time I reached the less traveled secondary roads, it was dark and temperatures were dropping faster.

I noticed a few slick patches but I had not gone very far until I encountered an old truck stopped in the oncoming lane, the flashers were activated.

I do not have much trouble talking to a perfect stranger.  I have a great deal of trouble carrying on a conversation of any depth or meaning with most anyone, but I can talk briefly with a stranger.

So I stopped and asked the fellow if he was alright.

"Yeah, I'm okay, how 'bout you, brother?" he replied.  See how this shared circumstance resulted in an unusual familiarity?

I soon sensed that he was experiencing some fear and was sort of paralyzed there. 

He asked me about the condition of the road ahead (where I had just come from).  Being the proverbial "Pollyanna" that I am, I answered with a particularly Rosy forecast of the prosperous road that lay before him - why to hear me tell it - you would have thought the road was a veritable tropical paradise (I exaggerate, but my opinion was at least cautiously optimistic)!

He, in turn, painted for me a grim picture of the road I would encounter ... I felt like Frodo Baggins about to take on Mount Doom and the fires of Isildur!

Then he said, "I'm sliding right now,man; I'm about to slide off the side of this cliff-"

I was a little puzzled, I sensed some panic in his voice.  The portion of the road on which we had stopped to have our little gleeful chat, was fairly level; there was an embankment on the side, but nothing near what I would call a cliff.  I looked at his tires - he was not moving - not sliding at all. 

I decided he was on drugs.

Since there were cars now behind me, I just rode on slowly; but some of that guy's fear climbed into the car with me and I found myself becoming much more cautious.

The roads were indeed getting worse.  Occasionally I was alerted to slick spots by cars in the ditch . . . someone else had gone before me and their trouble served as a warning to me.

At some point there was something of a pile up ahead of me with cars all but completely blocking my path.  As I approached with great caution, a young man - adolescent - walked to my car. 

"We got a bad patch of black ice up here!" he said and proceeded to tell me how to turn around.  When I began to explain that I didn't know an alternate route, he paused briefly to spit the juice from his tobacco product . . . the aroma caused me to hearken back to my high school days in Alabama - memory didn't serve me too well, I couldn't tell if it was Skoal or Copenhagen . . . at that point, the other fellows standing around the tie up began to try and push one of the vehicles out of the way.

I offered to help push -

"We (re) Yarborough's" he said " we can handle it!"

As I got out of my vehicle and took a step toward them, I discovered that my little slick-bottomed Bass dress shoes and me were definitely NOT Yarborough's  and I got back in my car.

The Yarborough boys directed me very slowly through the mess.  From that point on, I didn't exceed twenty miles per hour very much.

After a time of very slow progress I made it to the final leg of my journey.  A quick cell phone with my father-in-law, who had only recently made the trek convinced me to alter my route.  It was the last half mile that concerned me the most:  this route would take me on a road with undulating hills, just next to a large lake - I was pretty sure that would be treacherous.

I made it to the lake and found the roads indeed very dangerous.  At the first hill, there was a vehicle in front of me that was in the process of backing up - giving up on the prospects of surmounting the little knoll.  There was also a car behind me.

I pulled off to let the car behind me pass and to think (and pray) strategically. 
It appeared that the guy in the car that passed me was also backing out of the idea of attempting the hill.  So I got out and cautiously walked to his car.

He explained that the road was too icy and too narrow for him to attempt it - in his company vehicle.

We learned that we were neighbors- of sorts.  He said he would go back and try a different route (there are numerous little country back roads through that area.  He got my cell phone number and said he would let me know if he could make it.

I toyed with the idea of walking home, but thought better and decided to try another route as well.

Though my new-found neighbor and I ended up taking different roads, when he called to say he had made it through the worst part with little trouble - I had as well.

As we talked and I thanked him, we introduced ourselves.  I learned that his children go to the same school as mine - and my sister-in-law is a para-pro for one of them.

I soon made it home.  I did not say so - but prayer had been my constant practice on that trip and I was truly thankful to have made it without incident.  I was also thankful for the folks I met along the way and the folksy conversations I had had.

As we go through the "hard times" of economic recession or any other hardship that affects large groups of people - may we remember to look up in prayer, and then out to others that are in the same circumstance.