How nice it was to label the column “March 2.” I’ve had enough of February with its snowstorms, nasty weather and sand-covered pathways and roads. Despite the weather my neighbor has daffodils and spring flowers pushing through the ground! How welcome they will be this year.

I am feeling quite satisfied with the way I have spent time this month, going through the big gray acid free boxes in which all our family genealogy papers, pictures, and letters are sorted. Over the years, some of the material has become mixed up, put in the wrong boxes, and in need of sorting out. This is a fatal endeavor if one is in a hurry. No way can the contents be “skimmed.” They must be read – in some cases copied for someone who has been waiting for them, and finally, put to rest in the proper box.

The pictures were not as easy to do. They were scattered in with all the other papers and hard to locate. I decided to use the largest box for pictures only, filed away in big, new envelopes. I promised myself I would label each photo as completely as I could and have been doing that. It is a lengthy project, but satisfying.

In the case of pictures and written materials, I ended up with a box of “what to do withs” and this is the current effort. Along the way I have found things of which I have no idea where they came from, and things I don’t want and cannot part with. What a dilemma – it is sometimes confusing.

One thing I found was a folder I had labeled “snowstorms.” I had some my grandfather, a victim of the blizzard of 1888, had saved, several from the big 1934 storm, and pictures of weather-related problems. The ice jam of the Housatonic River near New Milford is one graphic statement about the winter of 1955. The caption of the news photo mentions the very bad ice jams of 1935.

Bearing in mind that the 1888 storm was in March, we can’t say a very certain good-bye to winter until about May! Drifts of 12 feet high were common and one 18 feet high was recorded in Southport. No communication with other towns was possible until Danbury established a telephone line to White Plains, and then to New York, where a message was finally sent by wire. After describing a completely immobilized city, the New Yorker said, “I am situated atop a lamp post, the top of which is just above the snow.” The caller concluded, “My position’s becoming quite tiresome and I must leave you.”

Train service was halted for days and funerals were cancelled; gangs of workers were enlisted to open up some of the roads; food was provided “neighbor to neighbor” and getting some medicine for a child in one town was almost impossible. Hardships of many kinds were reported in the first papers printed, several days after the storm.

My grandfather lived in “Middle River” in Danbury and never made it home from town to the outer limits. He spent the night at the end of Westville Avenue, when workers were too exhausted to try to open the road any further.

What would those early residents of the area think about our communications today, in an emergency? Cell phones and e-mail and the use of battery-operated radios would be available in some cases. Storm warnings are posted well ahead of big storms today, and we are advised to buy batteries, food, have a supply of water on hand, and stay home. Road crews go out early in a storm and are usually able to keep some roads open. They rescue folks in stranded cars, and snowmobiles carry medicine to those who need it, nurses to hospitals, and make necessary emergency calls. What a different world it is.

The juncos are still acting at home as they scavenge for seeds on the bare spots in the yard. As long as they stay, I’ll keep the snow shovel handy. The lone robin comes at dusk, to find something the juncos have missed. The cardinals look until dark for a few more seeds. But the calendar says “March” and it is one hopeful thing to keep in mind.

The column closed last week with words by Dorothy Parker.

“It is the friends you can call up at 4 am that matter” is a quote from another well-remembered woman. Who was she?