- November 20, 2024
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I’m not one for the snow. I spent three winters in Marquette, Mich., shoveling snow, stoking a wood stove and walking to grad school every day bundled head to toe. One of the perks of moving to Palm Coast was, of course, to escape the snow.
And yet, there I was with my children and hundreds of other kids, gathered around a truck packed with 8 tons of ice that was about to be chopped up and sprayed at everyone with a fireman’s hose. It was a snowstorm in Bunnell, courtesy of the city’s centennial celebration and City Manager Larry Williams. Finally, everyone shouted with glee as the icy flakes flew into the air.
The kids scooped up handfuls, made snowballs and pelted each other. They stuffed handfuls down their loved ones’ shirts.
Within minutes, everyone was soaking wet and shivering. I was about to call 911 to report the imminent frostbite, but everyone continued playing with smiles on their faces, laughing and having a grand time, so I held off.
I took pictures to document the madness and dodged the errant throws from people in the fray.
Still, safety has a price. I felt somewhat removed from the event and part of me wished I could dive in and have fun along with them. But what would I do with my camera?
As if reading my mind, Larry took me by the arm and said, “Here, come with me.”
“Where are we going?” I asked, clutching my camera bag to my chest.
Next thing I knew, the fire hose was directed at my head from a distance of about 2 feet, and I felt that shocking sensation of ice down my back.
I escaped and backed out of the flow so I could shake the snow off like a husky dog. I checked my camera, hoping I would find some damage and be able to sue.
Unfortunately, everything was in working order, and the snow melted too quickly to claim any lasting health problems.
And, as Larry patted more ice onto my head, I was warmed further by the enormous grin on his face. Thanks for making my night, Larry. But, sleep with one eye open!
