My heart raced when I could finally see the light beginning to shine through the snow, producing a bright blue color.

It was the pinnacle of hours of intense labor. After a couple of hours of digging in the drift, it was the first sign we were reaching each other. We thought we were the best tunnelers around. When the snows came, we headed out. Mitten-clad and rosy-cheeked, my brother Ramsey and I worked with the efficiency of many winters of experience.

We meticulously prepared for the adventure. I started with wind pants, a T-shirt and a thick hooded sweatshirt. Then came the snowsuit, one of my most prized possessions. It was light gray with a black stripe – the kind that had a zipper that went from my collar to my belt.

But I never forgot the key element. I made sure to tuck the bottom of my pants into my two pairs of worn white socks. Snow in the boots is a tunneler’s nightmare. It was a critical step in the process just in case the snow made itself past my first line of defenses. An infiltration of snow into the boots requires a run indoors for dry socks and a repetition of the bundling process. The mittens, oversized hat and hood over my head were the last steps.

As if on a critical mission, we trudged out the back door and greeted our last partner in tunneling, the dog, which emerged from the barn when he heard the house door open. His black and white border-collie fur kept him warm, although the tips of his whiskers and nose were frosted from his warm breath meeting the below-zero air.

So out we went to my front yard to make an initial analysis of the drift situation. In our business, the snow has to be just right. Wet snow simply won’t do. If it was a heavy and cold snow then it would be ripe for tunneling. In fact, the best snow had a Styrofoam quality. It was greatest when we were able to cut snow cubes from the drifts. Usually, a fresh drift needs a couple days of extreme cold to get to the Styrofoam consistency.

Our work was serious business. See, kids in the country have to work a little harder to entertain themselves. My brother and I were imaginative tikes and decided that building elaborate tunnel networks in our front yard was the best way to spend long winter afternoons.

We waddled around the acreage collecting shovels and sleds in the several layers of clothing and hood and hat, making it impossible to see anything but a small slit for our eyes.

On this particular day, we wandered across the road. We must have been quite a sight waddling down our windswept driveway with me in the lead dragging a shovel, my shorter but equally mummy-like brother in second, also dragging a shovel and the dog trotting along last.

The county erected a quarter-mile snow fence in the field across the road to help alleviate the drifts on our east-west road. But after a recent storm, the area to the south of the fence was turned to a gargantuan bank about 5 feet tall.

We started by each digging straight down into the drift from the top, about 10 feet apart. Once we were far enough down to stand with only our heads peeking into the chilling wind, we started digging toward each other. And we dug and dug. It was hard work. I clearly remember how nice it felt to take a break for a minute and lie in the tunnel to rest, enveloped by our wintery wonderland, psychologically and physically.

At last through a process of yelling and checking each other’s burrows, the snow began to lighten in color. Eventually the snow turned a brilliant blue color as the light shone through. Then we carefully punched through the remaining barrier and lined up the floors and ceiling of the tunnel. We dragged the remaining snow back out the entrance and we were done. We had a refuge in which to hide if caught in a snowstorm. And sometimes, I wish I could return just once to the time when we retired, with bright red faces and fogged glasses, to the kitchen where hot soup was waiting for us and we spoke of the great adventure that was had.

Omar Tesdell is a sophomore in journalism and mass communication from Slater. He is online editor of the Daily.