Weather alert!

The warning appeared on multiple stations when I turned on the tube to catch the news Saturday. We were going to get hit with a storm expected to deliver 5 to 7 inches of snow. Looking south, I saw a narrow band of orange as the sun rose to a nearly cloudless sky. It was going to be a beautiful day. Yet the warnings kept coming. This was going to be a winter hit.

Maybe Punxsutawney Phil had it right: winter is far from over. The warning was reinforced by an email and robocall from Mayor Frank Picozzi informing of a parking ban starting that evening and extending into Sunday. The directive was clear: Batten the hatches and hunker down with a generous supply of peanuts, chips, pizza and drinks to watch THE GAME.

All of this over the possibility of 7 inches of snow. That hardly seemed more than a dusting.

It wasn’t all that many winters ago that we got a succession of February and March weekend storms, each dumping from 10 to 20 inches and maybe more snow. There was so much of it that the DPW deployed frontend loaders to clear towers of the stuff from intersections. There was no way businesses and residents could clear sidewalks, although some tried. Their efforts offered pedestrians some sanctuary from walking in the street.

The long-range forecast is for another storm this weekend, although it may end up being rain. Will the cycle repeat itself? It didn’t look encouraging. Forecasts on Wednesday were for temperatures in the 30s on Saturday and as high as 50 on Sunday, and storms delivering lots of moisture from the northwest.

It wasn’t hard to imagine what might be delivered. I’ve seen it many times. Northeast winds driving white caps from across the bay in near-whiteout conditions. Snow was driven vertically landing in long drifts, some 4 feet deep, crossing our drive and yard. Some sections were left totally barren.

The picture was frozen in my mind as clearly as the days we were battered by snowstorms. The dates evaded memory. It was like scrolling through photos on an iPhone. There were the times I bulldozed my way to the DPW garage to see and photograph how crews worked to repair broken plows while their drivers grabbed a coffee and doughnut. Dates have faded, but I can’t forget the occasions where I accompanied the DPW director and sometimes the mayor on an assessment of the effort. Several stand out because of downed trees, people seeking to dig out their cars from snow banks and earthmoving equipment digging through giant drifts on Main Avenue at the end of the runway.

One such excursion was with David Picozzi, the mayor’s brother, when he was director of the DPW. It was early evening. It was snowing hard, reflecting the headlights. Picozzi was following the radio chatter and checking in with his crew when the alarm of a residential fire on Arnold’s Neck came in. Fire trucks from the Apponaug station were on the way; however, the plow crew covering that district wasn’t in the area. We were in a small plow close by. We headed for Arnold’s Neck. We thought we saw the smoke billowing – or was it a snow squall? I thought I saw houses, but I couldn’t be sure. The road disappeared. Had we driven into somebody’s yard?

I volunteered to find out. The strength of the wind caught me by surprise as soon as I stepped out of the cocoon of the cabin. I kept my head low to avoid the blinding snow. I surveyed the scene as best I could. Dave flashed his headlights. It was the signal to retreat. We found the firetrucks. Dave cleared the way for the firefighters. I had a story that later won me a first place in the Rhode Island Press Association contest.

The indelible picture in my mind, however, is those first steps from Dave’s truck. The headlights reflected a wall of white. There was no distinction from rapidly falling snow and the ground. Everything was white.  It was an eerie place, yet I knew I was only a few steps away from the warm cabin.

Maybe I shouldn’t make fun of all these snow alerts.