Snow Apocalypse

I remember February 12, 2021, vividly. In preparation for moving from our fifth-wheel trailer at the Stocktank RV Park in Liberty Hill, Texas, we had packed a bunch of our stuff into the 2001 GMC pickup that we called Rudolph. With the help of our kids, we took that first load to the Hills at Leander Senior Living apartments.

The day was gray and heavy. Even though the high barely touched the low 30s, the real bite came as the sun went down. Living in the Texas Hill Country from October through April since 2012, we had gotten used to the occasional “blue norther,” but this felt different from the start—it was the beginning of what we’d eventually call the Great Texas Freeze or Snow Apocalypse.

By the time evening rolled around, we had unloaded and reloaded the truck. Having no bed at the apartment, we spent that last night in our rolling home at the Stocktank. Overnight, the mercury crashed into the mid-20s. It wasn’t just cold; it was damp, with a must in the air. As the day progressed, I watched as overcast skies spat out a miserable mix of light freezing rain and drizzle while we unloaded most of the second load from the truck to the apartment.

Because of my inability to go up and down stairs, we had specifically asked for a ground-floor apartment. Thus, we were able to pass most things over the fence and into the apartment through the patio door. Our new (to us) bed arrived and was manhandled into the apartment in that manner. There was some difficulty getting the queen-size pillowtop mattress smushed through the door. The new (again, to us) washer and dryer came in on dollies through the apartment’s main entrance. Adam and Leigha brought us a dresser that they had picked up “curb shopping.” The last thing we brought in was a box of food that we intended to take to the food pantry. The box contained multiple cans of tuna, jars of peanut butter, and packs of spaghetti noodles. This was the extent of the food we had with us.

Looking back, that Friday was the tipping point. We’d had a little ice the day before, but this was the start of the true “deep freeze” phase. Every time the freezing drizzle hit the pavement, it stayed there. I watched the roads transform into a skating rink, making even a quick trip for supplies feel like a gamble. A thin, glass-like glaze started coating the trees and power lines across the Hill Country. There was an eerie quiet that settles in when people realize they’re about to be hunkered down for a while.

We didn’t know it yet, but we were looking at the most severe sustained cold our region had seen since 1989. At the time, I hadn’t even thought to drip the faucets, thereby making sure the pipes were kept from freezing. Of course, we were unaware that the coming days would bring a historic power crisis and temperatures that wouldn’t climb back above freezing for a long, long time.

By Sunday, February 14, the situation shifted from a local “winter event” to a full-blown crisis. Valentine’s Day was the last time many of us in the Texas Hill Country saw a light on or felt a heater kick in for days. That morning, Ella and I loaded into the truck and went searching for food. There was a Circle K convenience store within a mile. The roads were solid ice, and we were the only fools on them. Fortunately, unlike most Texans, we had grown up with blizzard conditions in Iowa. We knew the tricks of driving on ice: one, drive with one set of wheels off the road because there is better traction there; two, don’t stop unless you have to; and three, don’t accelerate unless you must.

We made it to the store and grabbed some sandwiches for breakfast and more for lunch. Because we had to drive the frontage roads of the toll road, it took a mile to get to the store but three miles to get back to the apartments. There are two entrance drives at the apartments, both uphill. I was unable to get up the first drive because of the incline and the ice. However, the second drive was less steep, and I was able to get up and into a parking spot. I attempted to retrieve more items from the back of the truck; however, because by then everything was coated with nearly ¾ of an inch of ice, the box on the back of the truck was frozen closed.

The temperatures didn’t just drop; they vanished. We watched the mercury sink into the single digits, and with the wind chill, it felt well below zero. That night, as the snow began to fall in earnest—layering over the thick sheets of ice that had already claimed the roads—the power grid finally buckled.

Around 1:30 AM on Monday, February 15, the “rolling blackouts” started, but for some, they weren’t rolling. The lights went out and simply didn’t come back. At the apartments, we would have electricity for about three hours and then off for five to six. We were left in a silent, cold apartment while the storm roared outside. We didn’t find out until over a week later that the electric heat source for our apartment had never been connected. We were the first tenants in it. The maintenance men and office workers were unable to make it to work for over a week.

Inside the apartment, it wasn’t long before we huddled in the bed, wearing every layer we owned, watching the outside thermometer on the wall slowly descend toward the 40s, then the 30s, while the inside thermometer showed a steady 55°.

By Monday morning, this part of Texas looked like the Arctic. We had several inches of snow on top of the ice. It was beautiful, but it was also a prison. There was no leaving; the I-35 corridor and our local backroads were completely impassable. By February 16, it was a battle of endurance. We were dipping buckets of water from the swimming pool and melting snow just to have water to flush the toilets—a common story across the Hill Country as pipes began to freeze and burst. The apartment residents banded together and began an in-house food pantry, with people sharing what they could with their neighbors.

Speaking of neighbors, folks from the adjacent housing development began bringing food and supplies to the apartments. Several churches chipped in as well. A local restaurant had lost power; without working freezers, they began cooking what they could and distributing it where they could, which included us. The local firefighters did a door-by-door welfare check of the apartments. They also provided a sump pump to help get water from the pool.

The “Great Texas Freeze” had officially become the most expensive and dangerous winter storm in our history. Those days are a blur of checking on neighbors via fading cell service and trying to keep the food going. We were living through a week where “Texas cold” meant record-breaking lows that didn’t let up until the 20th.

Thanks to the kindness of strangers, we survived. And those strangers became friends.

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Published by Tom