You know that traditional horror story parents tell their kids, ‘when we were young uns, we walked to school barefoot, fifteen miles, uphill both ways.”?
Of course it was one big perpetual blizzard.
Then they go on to brag, “We always got coal in our Christmas stockings.”
Maybe you should believe them. My parents were both from northeastern Pennsylvania, in the Pocono Mountains.
For them it really happened that way.