The governor declared a state of emergency. Schools were shut down. Stores ran out of milk, eggs and bread. Banks closed out of fear that there would be a run on cash.

Martial law was nearly imposed.

Suddenly our area had become too perilous for any travel other than dire emergencies.

It was coming and nothing could stop it. It?

A couple of inches of snow.

Excuse me if I don’t get my Fruit Of The Looms in a bunch, but having lived for decades in a distant land beyond the mighty Mississippi, where we measured snow in feet, not fractions of inches, it’s hard for me to work up much of a tizzy.

I don’t mean to laugh, but y’all are funny.

Besides, you have to know that this couldn’t really happen in the Blessed South because we are, after all, planet deep in the dreadful grip of global warming.

We must have been dreaming.

It was rather entertaining to watch the reactions around these parts when the flakes did start to fly in earnest. And I admit that seeing the snow pile up on the pine boughs and magnolia leaves did make me a bit wistful for my adopted homeland Out West.

Incidentally, why is it that folks always rush out to buy milk, eggs and bread? You never hear of shortages of Beanie Wienies or Cap‘n Crunch, both perfectly fine vittles for snowbound souls.

Some friends and kin, aware of my years in colder climes, called for advice.

One asked, “Should I go buy some snow chains?”

I responded “I doubt anybody around here stocks them and even if they do before you can figure out how to put them on your tires the snow will be melted,” then added, “ but, you can always sell them to some Yankee on EBay.”

Another, “ How do you keep your feet warm playing in the snow?” “Wear wool socks.” “Wool makes my feet itch.” “Frostbite will make your toes fall off. Take your choice” One more inquiry, “Can you really make ice cream from snow?”

“Yep. Just try to avoid YELLOW snow.”

For the record, in all the years I lived in the Rockies I never owned snow chains.

It’s been my experience that a good set of all season radial tires and a modicum of common sense are all that’s required to successfully navigate through the slush. The problem is, many people own one or the other of those commodities, rarely both.

Good tires but no common sense, you’ll find your way into a ditch.

Common sense but slick tires, same result.

Come to think of it, common sense would dictate that slick tires stay parked till the streets are dry.

Oh well, at any rate, here are a few bits of unsolicited advice for whenever the next raging Southern blizzard comes whipping in here.

Once the snow has been packed and the ruts formed the four wheel drive on your pickup or SUV is as worthless as that old eight track tape player. It just means you‘ll have four tires sliding instead of two.

Packed snow has another name. Ice.

Want to make a snowman? Wait till the day after the snowfall, when the sun first peeks out. The warmth makes the snow stick together better.

Want to make a snowwoman?

Actually, that one I can’t tell about here.

Those sneakers that give you such great traction on the tennis or basketball courts will put you in the hospital with a broken hip if you try them on packed snow.

It’s pretty but it’s still ice.

Don’t bet your deductible that a snowball won’t crack a car windshield. Trust me, it can.

Speaking of snowballs, as hard as it is to believe, there are people in the world who don’t appreciate being hit by them. My advice on that is to seek those people out first, when the snow is still good and wet, and nail them.

There you have it, for what it’s worth.

There’s really nothing in the world that compares to a gorgeous blanket made up of trillions of tiny white crystals covering the world for miles around. But, like many things in life, it’s fleeting. Enjoyed for a brief spell, then gone with the sun. In a few days the beautiful snowscape will just be memories and digital megapixels.

But you never know, there might be another storm lurking out there somewhere.

So, to be on the safe side, before the next paralyzing snowy vortex arrives, everybody head to the store to stock up on milk, eggs and bread.

I‘ll be in the Beanie Wienie aisle.

Don Lively is a retired police officer and freelance writer. He lives in Shell Bluff. Email Don at Livelycolo@aol.com