The Blizzard of '48 as told by Grandma B

I've gotten such a great response regarding my earlier post with my Grandma B's article that I've decided to share with you guys a few more of her poems.  The following one is one of my favorites.  It tells the true story of how the family survived a particularly harsh blizzard one winter.  I grew up hearing about this particular evening- my grandfather's courage to brave the storm probably saved my father's (a baby at the time) life.  


The Blizzard of '48

Listen my dears, and we'll relate
A story of the blizzard of 'forty-eight,
'Twas on a dark night of November eighteen,
The wind started blowing with a fury sharp and keen.
Old man Winter opened his doors up North,
A raging blizzard from the Arctic came forth.
The stove started smoking, bringing tears to our eyes,
Suddenly an explosion - fire - screaming cries!
We turn off the stove, water puts the fire out;
"Don't turn it on again!" the children plead and shout.
So quickly into bed we tucked the precious Seven,
Prayers for health and safety arose to heaven.
Clear through the night the blizzard swept the land
With Misery and Death it stalked hand in hand.
We thought that by morning surely all would be well,
But still it came on with all the fury of hell!
In a dark, cold house these babes must not stay;
We must go for help before 'tis day.
But the car was hemmed in by drifts so tall,
No horses, no sled, no - nothing at all.
Some way we must pierce that impenetrable snow
To seek aid from friends in the valley below.
So out alone in the storm went our Dad,
While into warm clothing the children I clad.
Stamping feet, clapping hands to keep warm as we had learned,
We wrapped the babes in blankets - waited the belated return.
At last the rescuers came, with their faces stern and red
Led to our house only by the light lines overhead.
To take the kiddies out they surely did hate,
Heart hung heavy with responsibility great.
Each person was tied to a long strong rope,
We faced the perilous journey with determination and hope.
Daddy led the way, carrying fat Darold,
Mama came next hanging on to little Gerald.
Then followed the four boys enjoying the squall,
Guess it's a good thing they are roughnecks after all.
Mr. Packard, the flyer, brought up the rear,
Secure in his arms was baby Jon dear.
Thus plunging and struggling through drifts to our knees,
Ever fighting onward, not stopping lest we freeze.
Breathless, most exhausted we reached safety at last,
Glad the daring trip was a thing of the past.

The Packards were wonderful, of their all did they share,
Their kindness, cheerful giving, hospitality was beyond compare.
We worked and slept together in that tiny 4-room cottage,
To tell how we did it would take one more page.
We became well acquainted which was quite all right.
Until the kids got restless, and then began to fight.
Saturday eve Daddy got us with horses and wagon
Back home, sweet home, our spirits no longer laggin'.
Well these are the highlights of how we dodged Fate,
In that horrible blizzard of the year 'forty-eight.
If you can piece it together and read between the lines,
You'll have the full story and that will be fine.

Dorothy A Beckenhauer