"'To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield' is written on a large wooden cross above Robert Falcon Scott's last camp site near the South Pole. It is also his and the rest of the expedition's tomb," I related to my sister as we walked across the barren and snow-swept field.
I was trying to cheer her up as we walked home, about a mile jaunt from what was called the Little Red School House near Maquoketa. Whenever there was a heavy snow, the school bus wouldn't drive down our gravel road and my sister and I had to hike across several cornfields to get to the one-room school.
My description of Scott's doomed, but brave expedition to the South Pole didn't have the effect I was aiming for.
"'Had we lived, I should have had a tale to tell of the hardihood, endurance, and courage of my companions which would have stirred the heart of every Englishman,' were the last words written in his diary before he froze to death." I continued.
Instead of shrugging her shoulders in renewed determination at the sound of those brave words, a light moan escaped from her blue lips set beneath a red and runny nose.
Snowdrifts furrowed across the field like Sahara sand dunes and fence lines were barely discernable in the form of scattered posts often protruding no more than several inches above the snow. Since there was a frozen crust, we were able to walk along as if on solid, if not slippery, ground.
I was in the third grade and my sister one year behind me. Those were the days when parents dressed their kids for the weather. Now days I'll see kids walking to school on blustery winter days garbed in light shoes and bare heads. Not so in those long past days.
The standard winter fare fit for an Antarctic expedition included a long underwear top, long-sleeved shirt, sweater, hooded winter coat, scarf, ear muffs, gloves, snow pants and buckle-up rubber boots.
Recess in the winter resembled a Dawn of the Dead movie, the kids clumsily walking about the playground beneath the multiple layers of clothing. To slip and fall often meant to flop helplessly around like a turtle on its back. A tumble amidst a group of kids could cause a domino effect, a one-by-one toppling until the playground was a surreal landscape of heavily swaddled children wildly waving their limbs and squawking in frantic frustration. This was a sight that could creep out even the most hardened farmer passing by.
Girls were still regulated to dresses, which meant they wore woolen leggings. In the summer, this also meant any spills while skipping rope or playing hopscotch resulted in scuffed knees. Exceptionally clumsy girls appeared to be wearing kneepads, which in reality were crusty scabs.
My sister had quit whining about the cold and I took that as a sign my bracing pep talk was working. I turned to congratulate my sister on her newfound fortitude. Instead of the waddling figure of my amply-garbed sister, a sight greeted me that instilled such a fright that to this day I can still vividly recall the rush of fear. She was nowhere in view. The bleak, white landscape stretched endlessly in all directions with no trace of my sister.
Retracing my steps, I returned to where her footsteps ended - marked only by her bright red knitted cap. I turned my gaze nervously to the sky. The only explanation was a UFO abduction.
I cautiously bent to retrieve the cap, worried about taking a tumble where there was no teacher to pull me back onto my feet. Imagine my surprise to lift the cap and see to the top of my sister's head sticking out of the snow. She had plunged through a thin spot in the crusty top layer of snow.
This presented a quandary. Eight-year-old boys often do not get along with 7-year-old sisters. I briefly contemplated a life not having to fight for a spot in the front seat of the family car - dinners where there'd be more dessert for me.
Reality took hold. My mother was rather picky and would most likely have frowned upon my return home with only my sister's cap and wild tales of UFO abductions. I sighed and dug her out.
My sister was now more sullen than ever. I tried one last time to cheer her up. "An entry in Scott's dairy related the horrible weather his expedition met, which resulted in the death of their ponies. 'One cannot see the next tent, let alone the land. What on earth does such weather mean at this time of the year? It is more than our share of ill-fortune, but the luck may turn yet.'"
I turned to see if this latest quote had cheered her up. It hadn't. Sisters are like that.