Icy Roads that led to Floyd
We were about 45 days into our 90-day deadline to be completely moved out of our Maryland farm. We were staring down the possibility of being homeless with our animals and all our farm equipment. I sat at a desk refreshing new listings—most days there were none. The few that did pop up either had unusable land, not enough acreage for our livestock, or no house or place to park our camper.
Then the old farmhouse in Snowville with 17 acres appeared. It didn’t have anything we were actually looking for, but it would fit our animals for the short term and give us a roof over our heads. It was 3:30 in the afternoon, and we were about six and a half hours away on a good day with no traffic or weather. We were in the car by 4:00. We were in such a hurry we didn’t even check the weather. It was December of 2023.
Packed up and on the road, we headed toward Virginia. About 30 minutes into the trip it started to rain. It was really cold, and we quickly realized it could turn to ice. The rain got heavier, and by the time we crossed the big 301 bridge that connects Maryland to Virginia, we could barely see the road. We pulled over a few times, and when things seemed to improve, we kept going.
A few hours from our destination, things got bad again. We were in the middle of nowhere and had the bright idea to take backroads so we wouldn’t get stuck on 81 if the weather turned worse. That ended up feeling more dangerous.
We didn’t know the area yet and had never met Shooting Creek Road. If we had, we would have stayed on the highway or found a hotel. By the time we realized what we’d done, it was too late. Visibility was so low we couldn’t even see well enough to pull into a driveway. Snow and ice were falling so heavily I couldn’t tell if we were even on the road—and I knew there was a cliff beside us. I’ve never been so scared in my life. White-knuckling doesn’t even begin to describe it. I’m not sure I was breathing.
Sometime after 1 a.m., we finally pulled into the EcoVillage Berm Lodge parking lot, and I cried.
I had never felt so grateful to get our kids to safety—and to simply be alive. Whiteout conditions on backroads we didn’t even know existed. That’s a mistake we’ll never make again.
At 1:30 in the morning, standing in front of the lodge we’d grown so familiar with, the kids looked at me and asked, “Mom, can we make snowmen?!” After the night we’d just survived, I can’t tell you how grateful I was to watch the snow fall while the kids chased snowflakes on their tongues and rolled snowballs to build snow bunnies in this little town we now call home.
Needless to say, we secured that old farmhouse—the one that would become our home for the next 2+ years. It gave us everything we needed to rebuild our life in this wonderful, perfect place. It has served us well.
More to come soon….