Winter Frequencies

I knew something was wrong before mami said a word. It wasn't just the scary wind howling outside our mountain cabin, or the light creaking sound from the wood reacting to the cold of the fresh snow. It was the look in her eyes when she came into the main room, phone in hand, screen dark.

"Your father should have been home by now," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "His last text was from the grocery store in town. That was hours ago."

I glanced at the kitchen clock: 10:47 AM.

Papi had left early morning to get supplies before the storm hit. This was a routine winter errand. We've all done this trip so many times during our traditional winter getaway. We've been coming to this cabin for fifteen years.

This storm was different according to the Weather Channel. They called it historic, a polar vortex that would send temperatures plunging to record lows, but this is what they have been calling each storm for the last few years. Who takes that seriously anymore?

The lights flickered once - not unusual when the winds were strong.

"Mami?" my brother yelled from the other room; his ten-year-old voice sounded small against the howling winds. He must have just woken up because his voice was anything but small, he had a big mouth.

"It's okay, mijo. It's just the wind swaying the trees around."

The lights flickered once again, then again until they shut off completely. Suddenly the cabin was silent as the buzz of the heater cut out. The cabin felt eerie for the first time I could remember.

We've had outages before. Papi always made sure we were prepared as our cabin was so far up the mountain. This time, it was only us three. We had always faced the outages together, all four of us. We would play games, make shadow puppets on the walls and tell stories around the fireplace, the fireplace papi would set up. Now, mami was gathering the firewood from the side, and I was getting really nervous.

Mami set the firewood, lite the fire-starter log, and within minutes, the warmth began to swirl around the cabin.

The cellphone still showed no service. I worried about my papi. He was out there somewhere, perhaps stuck in a snowbank without phone service. While I was worried, I wasn't too worried. Papi was experienced in winter driving. He grew up in north Illinois and loved the winter. He had chains for his tires and kept emergency supplies in the truck including heating pads, blankets, and a couple of days’ worth of water and snacks. I was sure he had experienced storms like these before.

The late morning crept toward afternoon, the temperature began to drop, and the winds kept getting stronger. I could tell mami was worried, but she kept herself and us busy.

We moved all the mattresses to the main room. This way we could all sleep by the fireplace tonight if the electricity didn't come back. We stack logs near the fireplace to keep it going. We all loved to sit by the fire, but this familiar motion brought little comfort. We all worried about papi.

The snow and winds kept going. The wind threw snow against the glass with increasing fury. If I didn't know any better, I would have thought this a nightmare or a dark Christmas movie.

I was searching for more blankets in the hall closet when I found it – an old ham radio set papi had bought at a yard sale years ago. I remember we had such fun when we got it. We even made a few friends a few winters ago. I can't believe we didn't remember we had it.

"Mami! Mami, remember when papi bought this? Maybe we can see if someone knows what is going on?"

Mami's eyes widened but then dimmed "I don't know how to use it."

"I do!" I said. "Papi taught me. He said it might be important someday." We got some batteries, put them in and powered up the radio.

The next hour was filled with static. We all huddled close, wrapped in blankets, near the fireplace. It seems to be getting colder even as we threw more wood into the fire. A voice finally crackled through. I nearly cried with excitement.

"This is Coyote Pass Emergency Services. If anyone can hear this broadcast..."

'Yes, yes!”

The voice said that several motorists had taken shelter at the old ranger station when the storm hit. The highway was closed, and rescue operations were suspended until conditions improved. Then the voice started listing off names of the stranded travelers. "John Ramirez," the radio crackled. "Family at cabin 422, if you can hear this, he is safe. Stay warm. He loves you all"

Suddenly we all started crying. Mami pulled us both close, and I finally felt warmth return to my chest. Papi was safe. We spent the rest of that endless day huddled by the fire, taking turns speaking into the radio, connecting with other isolated folks across the mountain. We didn't get a chance to speak to papi, but we knew he was safe.

As darkness fell outside, I realized that even in our fear and separation, we had created something precious – a web of voices reaching through the storm, each one a reminder that we weren't alone.

The power eventually returned late in the night, and with it, my papi, bearing slightly freezer-burned groceries and lots of comforting snack. He told us of the unexpected kindness among strangers that he experienced. Knowing he was not alone helped him get through his fear as it did with ours.

We kept the ham radio on the rest of the stay. A reminder that even in the darkest winter nights, warmth and reassurance travels in unexpected ways. It took losing power to realize that the true current, love, ran through our family – a connection that no storm could dim.

That winter taught me that comfort wasn't just about physical warmth. It was about the voices that reach out through the darkness, the hands that hold tight when the world grows cold, and the love that burns steady as a pilot light, guiding us home through any storm.