When I worked as an editor for a daily newspaper in Western Mass., I drove a good country road, Route 143, from the small hilltown where we lived through two others to a valley city. Most of the year, it was a pleasant 45-minute commute with long views, deep forests, occasional wildlife, and very few vehicles. A traffic jam typically involved three cars stuck behind a logging truck on one of the route’s steep hills.
But then, there was winter.
I dreaded November. Rain that month meant black ice. And that was just the start of a long season of digging ourselves out of deep snow. I constantly kept tabs on the weather.
Prior to working as an editor for the Daily Hampshire Gazette, I was its correspondent for the town of Worthington where we lived, being paid by the inch, and after several years, I was on staff covering two more hilltowns — Chesterfield and Cummington — plus regional news. Today, so many people work remotely, but Jim Foudy, who was the editor-in-chief then, said it didn’t make sense for me to cover those towns in the newsroom. I called a corner of our bedroom, where I kept my desk, the Hilltown Bureau.
I was frequently put in charge of any bad weather coverage. Typically, I would call a few of the highway superintendents for an update on road conditions and how their crews were handling them. Here’s a memorable example: during one ice storm, the highway trucks had to be driven backwards to spread sand on the road to give their wheels traction, and sometimes, the conditions were so dangerous, they were called back to the garage.
The highway supers didn’t mind taking a break to chat with a reporter. Sometimes I felt they were expecting me to call. I also called people who might have driven in the storm or worked outside or had an interesting perspective. Of course, Donald Ives, who kept daily weather records in Worthington for decades, was on my list.
But that changed when I became an editor, and I assigned those stories to reporters. Also, I had to commute to Northampton.
I left for the newsroom at 6:10 in the morning. I knew by then the plow trucks were out on the roads. I had faith when I reached the town line, the Chesterfield crew had taken care of a steep hill my car would climb. I kept going until I reached the Williamsburg aka Burgy line. Here was another hill, this time down to Route 9, a state highway that took me to Northampton. As I approached each town line, I asked myself “Did they make it? Did they make it?” It was extremely rare they didn’t.
When freezing rain or snow fell, the highway crews hit the steep hills first so they wouldn’t lose them. That included the one in front our house in Worthington. When I saw a truck’s strobing yellow lights move down that slope I knew for sure a storm had arrived.
One time, the police were on top of Burgy Hill telling people to take it slow since the road was icy. But as I did just that, the town’s highway truck was spreading salted sand on its way up.
Lucky for me and other drivers, those little towns spend a good chunk of their money roads. And the men who maintained the roads — yes, there were no women — took their jobs seriously. In Worthington, three men took care of 57 miles of roads in the winter.
The worst snow storms of the season were the first and last. During the first, it seemed people forgot how to drive on snowy roads. On the last, everybody, including the highway crews, was sick of snow.
Often I met the plow and gratefully followed it uphill all the way to the next town. Or its driver deservedly got a wave and toot of my Subaru’s horn when we passed in the opposite direction. At the end of winter, I sent a thank you card to the highway department in the three towns.
Sometimes we got hit with a storm when I was at work and my boss let me leave early. I recall one April 1 watching serious snow falling outside the newsroom’s windows. It was obvious this wasn’t going to be the flurries that had been forecast. In fact, it was such a fast-falling wet snow that when I turned left on Route 143, a tractor trailer was jackknifed on the road. But my all-wheel-drive Subaru managed to get around it.
After depending on these crews for so many years, I also got to know their work habits. For instance, I learned I shouldn’t drive home at noon. No matter the weather the guys took their lunch break then. If I waited until 1, they were back on the roads.
The crews also inspired characters in my Isabel Long Mystery Series, including one guy, Cary Moore, who worked on a town’s highway department and wrote poetry good enough for a famous poet to steal. That was in Checking the Traps.And in case you’re wondering, that character is not based on anyone real.
Here’s a poem Cary — well, I, actually — wrote about his highway super called The Peerless Plowman:
Night and day the Peerless Plowman sees the road ahead.
He drives alone
Pushing snow aside with his truck’s long blade.
No harm will come to those who follow.
The Peerless Plowman watches the weather.
Hey, guys, a storm front’s moving in, he tells us,
Get the trucks ready before it does.
We can’t let the people down.