“Winter, When We Worked Harder Preparing Than It Ever Snowed”

By Mark Morgan

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Markmorganbooks.com

Winter in a small town don’t just slip in quiet-like.

No sir.

It sends warnings, the way your aunt used to holler,

“Y’all better straighten up — company’s comin’!"

Around here, it starts with somebody at the gas pump mumbling,

“Feels like snow’s a-brewin’.”

And that one sentence hits the town

harder than caffeine in a Baptist potluck.

Within ten minutes, every momma in Scott County is at Buddy Grays and Piggley Wiggly

buying enough bread, milk, and butter

to feed a Baptist youth group for a month.

If you showed up late, all you’d find on the shelves

was one lonely bottle of buttermilk

and a pack of off-brand Pop-Tarts nobody’s ever eaten on purpose.

But the REAL panic didn’t start in the stores —

it started at the propane tank.

Every family had one mission:

“Go check the propane, see how much is in there.”

And the answer was ALWAYS the same:

Empty.

Always empty.

Didn’t matter if you filled it last week —

Winter storms sucked propane out

like teenagers suck Coca-Cola out of a Sonic cup.

Back in the late ’70s and all through the ’80s,

winter was a whole different animal.

Soon as a single snowflake touched the ground,

you’d hear chains rattlin’ on tires like Santa’s reindeer

were drag racin’ down Main Street.

Folks dug out those old rusty snow chains

they kept in the shed “just in case,”

right next to the carb cleaner and that fishing pole

that hadn’t seen bait since the Carter administration.

And if the propane didn’t run out,

the woodpile did.

Every family swore they had “plenty of wood on the porch.”

But soon as that cold north wind hit,

you’d step outside and find

exactly three sticks,

a broken board,

and something that might have been part of a rabbit hutch.

“We didn’t stack wood. We negotiated with it.”

That firewood was dryer than Grandma’s cornbread and twice as dangerous.”

“Stackin’ firewood builds character — and by character, I mean lower back pain and bad attitudes.”

Kids today stay indoors when it snows.

Back then, Mama shoved us outside

We’d stay out ‘til our faces were redder

than a hound dog caught in the neighbor’s pantry.

We made sleds out of cardboard boxes, trash can lids, car hoods,

and one time a cafeteria tray we were absolutely not supposed to have.

You could slide halfway to Y-City on those things

if you hit the hill just right.

And Lord, the school announcements—

Nowadays you get a text alert.

Back then you had to sit by the radio

like you were waiting on lottery numbers.

“Waldron School District… will be closed.”

We cheered so loud the windows shook.

Winter ain’t always easy,

but it's full of stories, laughter, and little reminders

that small-town life may be cold sometimes—

but it's good and warm at the heart.

Moral of the story:

In a small town, winter might freeze your toes,

but it warms your memories for life.

And if you hear “snow’s comin’,”

check the propane first —

because chances are,

it’s empty again.