Snowball Adventures

“Lord, make it snow!” I was six at the time, and it was an early January day. I uttered the simple, nonchalant prayer while looking out the large picture window of my parents’ kitchen. Outside were low-hanging clouds that I somehow knew would bring a snow day or two.

My parents forbade me to ever utter those words again.

The answer to the prayer came… and boy, did it ever. Those who have been in Clarksville long enough will remember that winter as the Blizzard of ’77.

It snowed, all right. We had snow days, all right. Heck, we had so many snow days that we ended up going to school on Saturdays.

I remember fondly the snow tunnels, the under-snow snow forts, the snowball battles, and the snowmen. The winter wonderland that was otherwise known as Clarksville was a pure delight to a six-year old. My big brother and I spent so much time outside that I’m surprised that we didn’t turn into snow-boys.

One day, we made as many snowballs as our little hands could make. We stacked them high and proud — all for one purpose: to ambush Daddy! We waited patiently until that old brown Dodge Dart came home. We gave him no warning and no reprieve… it was a constant pummel of snowball after snowball!

We then learned something very important. Dad is a big guy. With big hands. That make big snowballs. We didn’t know what hit us. Only one each is all it took. He made the snowballs and tossed them in one swift motion. Whoosh-SPLUT! Whoosh-SPLUT! My brother and I were so utterly and completely defeated that all we could do at that point was wave a white flag. Of course by then, we were the white flag. Immediately, the three of us went back inside, all covered in snow. Alas, our dastardly plan was thwarted by my father’s very large hands.

We sat around our toasty warm wood stove and sipped Mommy’s special blend of hot chocolate as she held my newborn baby sister in her arms. It was a mix of cocoa, evaporated milk, and that extra special tender loving care that she always put into everything she made.

It was a winter like we’ve rarely had since, a winter for the ages. Of course, that picture window is long gone, as are those wonder years of my childhood. Now, more than 30 years after that storied winter, we all look toward a new year and new possibilities.

To be sure, I’ve tried praying for snow since then, but I’m convinced that the power for the snow-prayer was in that picture window (It was removed when we added on a room to our house a couple of years later). One thing that hasn’t left, though, is my hope for lots
of snow.

Whether we’re in business, in the arts, or proudly working for the heritage or the future of our many communities, there’s always a place to find child-like joy and hope. Here at Business Clarksville, we’re always looking for the best and brightest of our region, and we hope you enjoy this issue!

Happy New Year.