This was in our paper and it brought tears of joy to my eyes. Being a Good Samaritan, and a good neighbour is absolutely priceless. I was telling someone about this a couple of days ago, and I got choked up telling it. I travelled this highway daily when I lived in Listowel, and it can be brutal!

WALLENSTEIN — The snow is piling up, burying the car deeper and deeper into the snowbank. Deb Dooling-Westover pulls out her crackers, cream cheese and roasted red pepper jelly, and offers some to her husband, Mark Westover. In the back seat, a hitchhiker takes a few for himself. He’s on his way to Listowel for his daughter’s first Christmas with a bag full of toys and a few pairs of spare clothes, but his taxi has long ago turned around and left him on Line 86, just outside of Wallenstein.

The back seat of the Westovers’ car is his only chance at warmth for the night. The car’s not moving; the snow drift had made sure of that, and the trio are settling in for a long, cold night. Snowplows can’t get to them, and there’s no way in or out of the country road. The Westovers — Deb, 63, and Mark, 71 — and their hitchhiker, a young man of about 30, are trapped. They’re talking, but their eyes dart nervously at the fuel gauge that’s slowly ticking lower. The snow is filling up the windows, and they’re equally worried that a car might come piling in behind them. It’s Christmas Eve, and a winter storm bringing heavy snow and wind gusts of 100 km/h has shut down much of the province on one of the busiest travel days of the year.

On this rural road, 30 kilometres north of Kitchener, it feels as if nothing and nobody is around you. It’s a vast rural area, dotted with Mennonite farms and sprawling fields. The Westovers are on their way from Ayr to spend Christmas with friends in Wingham. They spent the morning checking the weather to make sure the roads were still open when they left just before noon. The further they drive, the worse the conditions get. Eventually, on a long stretch of farmland between Wallenstein and Macton, there is no going any further. There are a few other cars stuck in the area. As the winds pick up and blow the snow in blankets across the farm fields and over the road, it gets harder to make them out. Each car is an island, and the snow is gobbling them up.

After a few hours sitting inside the car, Deb looks out of the snow-covered window and rubs her eyes to make sure she’s not hallucinating. A man with a pair of snowshoes has emerged from the snowbank. He knocks on the side of the car, and she opens it up. “Do you have food and water?” he asks. “Well, we don’t have a lot of food, but we have some water and Diet Coke in our cooler,” she tells him. “My car is behind my husband’s; I only have a quarter tank of gas.”

The Westovers had filled their two cars with presents, and they were hoping to do some work on Deb’s fuel tank once they got to their friend’s house. She had been following Mark the whole drive, but both of their cars were now stuck in the snowdrift. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I have lots of gas. I’ll come back for you later.”

An hour goes by. It’s dark now. With the wind chill, it feels like -27C. The snow continues to fall and the wind is howling. A roar starts up behind them, and Deb jumps out of the car to see approaching blue and red lights. Their man in the snowshoes has returned, this time in a tractor. He gets Deb back into her car, pulls it out, and then pulls out Mark and the hitchhiker. By this point, the tractor has already pulled out some of the other cars as well. Once they’re safely back on the road, he asks the occupants of all the cars — about six in total — to follow him about a kilometre down the road and into a long driveway, where they come to a stop at a farmhouse. The group walks into the house to find the man’s wife peeling carrots in the kitchen, with two young boys bouncing around the house.

They are a modern Mennonite family, and the farmhouse is equipped with power, heating and a family phone. “I’ve never spent any time with a Mennonite family or been inside a (Mennonite) house before,” Deb said later. “And I have to tell you, these were the most beautiful people I’ve ever met.” Deb joins the woman in the kitchen, helping to peel carrots. Then she watches as she puts potatoes through a food processor, throws them into a boiling pot, strains them, and mixes them with some cream and butter to make mashed potatoes. Then she starts cooking summer sausage as more people start piling in to the farmhouse — there’s about a dozen of them now. The family has some table extensions, and by the time dinner is served, it’s a feast for nearly 16 people, each with a spot around the “harvest table.” They say a silent prayer, and the dinner begins. “I was literally crying,” said Deb. “It was the most unbelievable thing I had ever seen in my life. There we were, thinking we were going to freeze to death. We really thought we were going to die. And now we’re all seated around this table, warm, and having dinner at this farmhouse.”

Around the table, the different groups recount their stories. Each talk about watching the weather advisories, checking to make sure the roads were open, and eventually finding themselves stuck in the snow drift with no way out. But something still doesn’t quite add up. How did this man know to come looking for them? One of the women at the table speaks up. While she was waiting in her car, she had noticed a name on a mailbox. She called her son in Listowel, and he started calling all the numbers in the area with the same last name. Eventually, he got through to the man, who threw on his snowshoes, and headed out into the storm to see if he could find them. Not wanting any unnecessary attention, the family has asked to keep their names private. “I don’t want any honour or glory,” the man told the Record. “It’s the Lord’s glory, and we did our Christian duty.”

After dinner is over, the family eventually leads Deb and Mark to a spare bedroom to hunker down for the night. It is cold in the room, but the blankets keep them warm. The rest of the travellers are spread out around the house, sleeping on makeshift beds and couches. In the morning, Deb runs to the car to grab some peameal bacon she had planned to cook on Christmas morning. Many of the others do the same, bringing in what spare food they can contribute to the feast. Like the night before, they cook up a big meal, each sitting around the table to enjoy a Christmas breakfast. When the food is finished, they clean up together, and then start piling back into their cars, each bound to family and friends. None of them know each other. After they say their goodbyes and wish each other luck for the journeys ahead, all they’re left with is a handful of first names and memories of faces, warmth and a reminder of the good in people when tragedy strikes.

The Westovers “were so careful, and they spent the whole day making sure the roads were open,” said Brenda Szasz, the friend in Wingham that the Westovers were travelling to visit. “They did their final check and let us know they were coming. I guess they were in for quite the adventure.” Deb and Mark do eventually reach their final destination. The gifts they had piled into their cars make it to the friends and family they planned to see. And as they sit around the table for Christmas dinner, they tell the story of a snowy country road, and the man on the snowshoes who appeared out of nowhere, and took them to safety in a farmhouse with his family. “I have to tell you, it was the most beautiful Christmas ever,” said Deb.