Last February our family took a trip to Mars Hill, North Carolina for some skiing. On the way to our destination, we dropped my mother in law, Dair, at her home in the NC mountains. Her job was to watch our dog, and hers, while we were skiing. We figured that she could survive a couple of days on her own while we were gone.
She arrived at her home on Friday afternoon, stocked with groceries for the weekend. Our plan was to pick her up on our return the following Monday. Soon after we dropped her off and headed eastward, snow began to fall. By Saturday morning, several inches of snow were on the ground, but the electricity never went out and the heat continued to run inside Dair's home. Dair didn't venture out that day, but her neice, who was visiting across the street, made her way over with some hot food.
On Sunday, though snow was still on the ground, a friend picked up Dair and took her to church. By Monday, most of the snow was gone, and we arrived around noon to retrieve Dair and the dogs and made our way home with no trouble.
As Dair recounts, frequently, this story, it is amazing how it has morphed into a tale of survival. She refers to it as "that week I was snowed in and couldn't get out while ya'll were off playing."
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