AN ACCOUNT OF A TRUE EXPERIENCE IN A NEW MEXICO BLIZZARD
                       (Personal recollection of D. Beck, adventurer-scientist)


It was mid-January 2007 that brother and I were wending our way up north from an excursion into southeastern New Mexico.  We had decided, despite the ominous looking red sky which foretold colder weather and possible snow, to head for Santa Fe.  We had left the mountains around Ruidoso mid-afternoon in brother’s Honda.  It was a good driving vehicle and most dependable. 

We stopped in Carrizozo for gas and a Coca-Cola.  The temperature was much cooler and the wind much stronger and we had already about decided that Santa Fe might be out of the picture for us.  Our intuition was verified when a southbound trucker at the station informed us that Santa Fe had over six inches of new-fallen snow when he had passed through it several hours before at a snail’s pace.  He said it hadn’t been bad from Route 66 in Santa Rosa to Carrizozo but he guessed the snow was coming that way. 

We jumped back in the car and were determined to make Santa Rosa that night, snow not withstanding.  Darkness soon blanketed the landscape as we stopped a few minutes to watch the sun, which had yet escaped being draped by gray clouds proceeding from the north, set in the western sky.  Venus, bright and lonely, quickly appeared but the chilled air made it seem distant and cold, so we returned to the warmth of the heater of the Buick and charted on north. 














The winds grew stronger as the night grew darker and an hour later we could feel the north wind’s push against our vehicle.  Venus was gone and the absence of any lights in the sky told us that the clouds had overrun us.  As we proceeded, small flecks of white shown in the beams of the car’s headlights.  In short order, the wind became fiercer and the snow fell harder.  Brother increased our speed in spite of the worsened road conditions since we knew that we were on a desolate stretch of road with miles to go before we would reach shelter of any town. 

Within another thirty minutes we were within near-blizzard conditions.  We had come to a crawl, even guessing to remain on the pavement our sight being so impaired by the blowing snow.  Though unspoken both of our thoughts had already turned to the precariousness of our situation.  We estimated that the temperature was now well below freezing, feeling much colder in the howling wind.  We naturally began looking for signs of shelter for the night.  Our fuel would not sustain us for the duration of the evening and our light blankets would be insufficient against the coldness. 

As we traversed slowly down the highway, we peered searchingly out our respective windows into the distant landscape looking for a friendly illumination.  Then I saw it.  A light apparently from a window of a building, a farmhouse I surmised about a quarter mile to our right.  Brother slowed and found the trace of a lane which appeared to lead toward the light.  Within a minute or two we had come to a small farmhouse with little definition due to the intensifying snowfall.  We got out and approached the hamlet, coming upon the front porch which also was partially covered white several inches thick.  It appeared that the occupants had retired for the night and I noticed on my wristwatch that it has past ten o’clock.  A thermometer hung on one of the porch posts and its mercury, visible by the light streaming from the front window, appointed the temperature at 8 degrees.  The cold wind was harsh and brother rapped vigorously upon the green-painted front door.  Another light flicked on and, within a few seconds, the door opened before us.  There stood an elderly man; behind him an elderly woman in a full-length housecoat.  The man had a pleasant look on his face despite the inconvenience and interruption created by our nocturnal visitation.  He immediately ushered us in, shutting the door, and directing us to stand by the fireplace.  He reached down and stoked the embers, adding a few logs, renewing the warmth. 

The couple introduced themselves as the Goodes -- Sam and Aritan.  They appeared to both be approaching their eighth decade but their kind dispositions seemed to almost erase a fifty year age difference between them and us.  After a few minutes of relating our activities of that day, Mrs. Goode opened a closet and produced several large blankets.  She handed them to us, apologizing that they did not have but one extra bedroom and it had only a single-size bed, so one of us would need to bunk on their sofa for the night.  We protested her apology and thanked them for harboring us for the night, saving us from a miserable and possibly lethal winter’s night.  Brother took the bedroom and I stretched out on the sofa before the warmth and light of the fireplace. 

I awoke to the distinct sizzle and smell of sausage frying in a skillet with the odor of coffee behind that of the sausage.  My wristwatch read almost seven o’clock and the little living room was filled with light from a rising sun.  The brightness told me that the blizzard of the night had run its course and given way to old Sol.  I arose and stuck my head into the bedroom where brother had retired and saw that he too was astir.  About that time, Mr. Goode walked out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hand.  With a broad smile he greeted me “good morning” and beckoned me to the kitchen for coffee.  In a minute, brother, Mr. Goode and I were sitting at their dinner table in the kitchen sipping hot coffee, looking out a window onto a flat, whitened country.  A windmill spun slowly beside their barn.  The wind’s energy had no doubt kept it in rapid rotation during the frigid night, thus preventing it from freezing into stillness. 

A short time later the four of us sat before a hot, hearty breakfast meal of grits, eggs, sausage, biscuits with jelly and plenty of coffee.  Mr. Goode had a large glass of buttermilk and offered some to us but we politely declined.  Before partaking, Mr. Goode gave thanks for the provisions and also thanked his good wife.  It may have been the best meal that brother and I ever ate.
It would be another two days before the roads cleared enough for us to motor on to Santa Rosa.  The Goode’s continued their royal treatment of brother and me.  We tried to reciprocate by helping Mr. Goode with some of the chores.  Despite his age, he had a few head of cattle, a horse, two hogs and a dozen or so chickens.  We noticed that his barn needed some repair work and we spent most of our time with that endeavor even though he protested that we were their guests and had no business working around the place.  The morning we left we felt like we were leaving “grandma’s house” - evoking old but joyful memories from bygone days.  The gentle couple stood out front waving to us as we pulled back onto the highway and headed north again.

----I didn’t believe it when I saw it.  It had only been two weeks since our travel adventure of New Mexico.  The familiar envelope in my own handwriting returned to my mailbox about six days after I had sent it.  In large, looming capital letters were written words that made my heart fold. “Undeliverable - both addressees deceased.”  I had penned a letter to the Goodes shortly after arriving home to again offer grateful appreciation for their hospitality.  Now, according to the post office anyway, both were gone from this earth.  Surely a mistake, I thought.  During our visit, both of them exhibited no sign of sickness or disease.  I at once determined to reach their post office by phone for further explanation and, hopefully, to learn that the message on top of the envelope was erroneous. 

I quickly located the phone number for the Vaughn, New Mexico post office which serviced the Goode’s address.  I explained to the man about the letter that had apparently been returned from his post office and further about our stay with the couple only a few weeks earlier.  Could he give me better news or would he verify that the terrible message on the envelope was correct?  He then asked me some questions about the Goodes, their farm and even the appointments in the house.  After providing him with the answers, I heard nothing for about fifteen seconds.  I thought at first we had lost phone connection, but finally he spoke again.  He explained that the Goodes were his aunt and uncle.  He further related that they had both perished in a blizzard on their farm place 20 YEARS EARLIER!!

I told him that he was not being truthful and fervently affirmed that brother and I had just spent several days with the couple just two weeks earlier.  He, just as sincerely, told the story of how, in blizzard conditions twenty years ago, his uncle had gone out to the barn to see after the animals, when he slipped and fell, breaking his leg.  Arita, his good wife, came out to see what had happened to him when the blizzard intensified.  Conditions were too severe for her to help him back into the house or for her to go for help.  He told her to get him some blankets from the house and she should then go back in where it was warm.  However, she refused to leave him and stayed there in the barn with him.  The nephew himself had been the one to find his aunt and uncle in their barn frozen to death.  They were buried on the farm. 
Footnote: The nephew postmaster later e-mailed a picture of the joint tombstone from the old farmplace.  With the familiar but much more rundown farm than the one we had stayed at in the background, the grave marker clearly and simply read,    
“Goode, Sam Aritan”

"Within another thirty minutes we were within near-blizzard conditions."