We got snowed in.
The ski season had been admittedly dismal, so when a big storm was finally in the forecast—over two feet—we were excited.
I came up on Wednesday night, a day ahead of the rest of you, planning to ski the start of the storm on Thursday with Uncle Scott. I was so excited I arrived a couple of hours before the lifts opened and was one of the first cars in the lot. Unfortunately, the freezing level was too high, and Thursday morning turned into a short session on what felt like an ice rink. Still, more snow was coming.
You, Mom, and Eliza arrived Thursday night, and we held out hope for colder temperatures and better conditions. The plan was to spend the weekend at Uncle Scott’s new cabin while they headed out to Mission Ridge for a ski race later on.
That night, the snow started falling hard. By morning, we woke up to well over a foot of fresh snow—and no power. No problem.
We had a wood-burning fireplace for heat and a generator system Uncle Scott had set up for exactly this kind of situation. With trees down at the resort, we decided to stay in that morning and wait for updates on roads and lifts.
Then we lost internet and cell service.
No power. No communication. Still… mostly no problem. Except I had work to do, and that clearly wasn’t happening. Meanwhile, the snow kept coming. By midday Friday, we had more than two feet at the cabin, with no sign of it stopping.
I started digging out the driveway to give us a chance of getting the truck out. Your Mom’s SUV wasn’t going anywhere. Even if we made it to the end of the driveway, the road hadn’t been plowed—we were officially stuck. Thankfully, we had plenty of food and running water. You and Eliza made the most of it, playing outside and building sledding runs on the hill nearby.
By Friday night, your Mom and I decided to start rationing propane for the generator. We had already gone through a couple of tanks and weren’t sure how long we’d be there without any updates on road conditions. We were roughing it—but also having a blast. You and Eliza read your bedtime books by the fire, using our phones as flashlights to stay warm.
By Saturday morning, even more snow had fallen. We were just shy of three feet in three days.
I walked to the community center and managed to get a connection on Starlink. I was able to let everyone know we were okay. I also learned that the highway and the ski resort were still closed—though by then, skiing was the last thing on our minds.
Your Mom and I decided to keep digging the driveway and give ourselves a shot at getting home that weekend. I shoveled another stretch out to the street, and soon some neighbors joined in. A group of us cleared the rest of the block together, not knowing when a plow would arrive. Meanwhile, you and Eliza were busy building snow caves, completely carefree.
After hours of digging, we felt ready to try.
We packed up the cabin and loaded the truck. Ours was the first vehicle to attempt the uphill out of the street. The F-150 Lightning proved itself. We pushed through deep snow, backing up, charging forward, and carving a path as best we could. I’ll admit—I was a little worried about pushing the truck so hard—but after a few long minutes, we made it to the top and onto the main road.
What a rush.
Driving down Highway 410 felt surreal. Familiar roads looked completely different, lined with towering snowbanks and scattered tree debris. We passed crews clearing fallen trees and carefully made our way through a single open lane back toward civilization.
In the end, we didn’t ski at all—but it turned into one of the best winter weekends I can remember.
The four of us made a great team. We adapted, worked together, and found a lot of fun in an unexpected adventure. Honestly, we may have enjoyed it more than a typical weekend at the resort.
That’s one for the family history books.
Love,
Dad