And then the snow came. It arrived without warning on a clear December night. The sky had been calm. The air had been still. By morning, 90 cm of snow covered the cabins. By afternoon, 1.5 cm, and it didn’t stop.
For three long weeks, Marta, her husband Samuel, and their two children were sealed inside their home.
The firewood ran out. The food ran out even more. Her husband went out once, just once, thinking he could reach the woodpile before the wind picked up.
He returned half-frozen, his boots stiff with ice. He never fully recovered.
They burned furniture to keep warm. First the chairs, then the table Samuel had built with his own hands, and then the shelf that held Marta’s small poetry collection. On the 12th, the oats ran out.
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