Maurice in front of the farm home in the winter.
I guess it was the winter of ‘49 that the snow was so bad in our area of Southeastern Idaho. I was four, and as I remember, we had been into Grandma Kirkham’s for an evening. It had begun to snow, and as we bundled up to leave, I believe Daddy realized that the storm was worse than he had thought. As we approached our home, the roads became more and more snow packed, until we hit large drifts where there had been no snow fences to protect the roads. We were unable to continue. Daddy got out of the car in that raging snowstorm to see about what could be done about getting us home. Meanwhile, in the car, Mom reassured us, but to no avail where I was concerned. I was very nervous. I wasn’t frightened about our immediate safety, but more worried about the magnitude of what was happening. I clutched my doll to me, and hugged with all my might. There the memory stops, except I remember being home in my bed later, and discovering my doll had a broken leg. It never ceases to amaze me what incidents stood out in my mind.
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