I hope by the time you read this, we’re all enjoying warmer temperatures, less snow, and less wind. As I sit here writing, I can hear the wind roaring outside. When I went out to feed the birds late this afternoon, it was approaching whiteout conditions around our place. This area is known as Coon Prairie, but there isn’t a coon in sight. I think they all hitched rides and headed south knowing it was going to be a mighty cold winter.
I think most people have had enough of this winter and wish they’d followed the coons and gone south. It’s been a long time since we’ve had so many bitterly cold, below zero days. I’ll even use a line from Shakespeare, “Now is the winter of our discontent.” Spring can’t come fast enough.
Even the grove of trees west of the house hasn’t afforded any protection this year. The wind comes swirling around the trees and keeps dumping more snow in our driveway. It’s been packed so hard its like cement. I could walk on top of the drifts yesterday and even my heavy-duty snowblower couldn’t budge it. I had to break up the snow with a shovel so the snowblower could handle it. From the sound of the wind, tomorrow morning will be more of the same. Our driveway is already drifted shut again. I’ve written before about how drifted Sherpe Road gets, especially back where we live. The road is most likely impassable now until a plow goes through. But, I’ll still need to get to work in the morning.
Drifts on Sherpe Road
Right now as I sit here in the winter of my discontent, I take back all the nice things I said about winter a few weeks ago. I’ve heard more than one person say, “Why the H are we living here instead of down south?” I’ve spent so much time snowblowing, shoveling, and breaking up the cement-like snow that by the time I’m finished, I’m too tired to go snowshoeing. I’m finding I’m not the spring chicken I still think I am. I should mention that the temperature is usually 12-15 below zero while I’m out there chipping away at the snow for an hour and a half, and the wind chill must be 35 or more below.
Even with all my complaining, I’ve got it good compared to those who work outside in this weather. They deal with frozen water pipes, tractors and heavy equipment that won’t start, providing water and feed for cattle that are outside, plowing snow, delivering mail, helping when there’s an accident, fighting fires, constructing buildings, repairing cable and electrical lines, and the list goes on and on. I’m lucky, I have an inside job where it’s warm. My hat is off to all of you who work outside in this weather.
Quoting the Bard again, “Blow, blow, thou winter wind, thou art not so unkind as man’s ingratitude.” Shakespeare is telling us that while nature may be difficult and harsh at times, it’s never evil or deliberately cruel, like man often is.
Those of us who live here in the upper Midwest know that winter is one of our seasons. We also know that it can be difficult and harsh living here at times. But we put up with the difficult times because there are so many glorious times. The rest of Shakespeare’s line is “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer…” That’s what I try to remember when the wind is howling, the snow is blowing, and the temperature is plunging. Brighter, warmer, glorious days are coming. Even all that snow that’s piled in our driveway will be only a memory, as it gives way to green grass and flowers. Next time the temperature rises into the 90’s and the humidity is the same, and you start complaining about the heat, think back to this winter when you were freezing your buns off and the wind chill was 40 below zero. Maybe that hot weather isn’t so bad after all.
That subject came up a week ago as we were standing in foot deep snow, with the temperature at seven below, at the Coon Prairie Cemetery, waiting for Lincoln Stafslien’s funeral procession to arrive. I was part of the military honor guard and firing squad salute. It was cold and windy. Several of us were Vietnam veterans. We were talking among ourselves as we waited and said that we were glad we had served in the heat and humidity of Vietnam instead of the freezing cold and snow of Korea, or the Battle of the Bulge in World War II.
Even though my fingers were so cold they hurt, I was glad to be there for Lincoln. I owed him this final sendoff, even if we were freezing. When I returned from Vietnam on July 4, 1967, I wouldn’t arrive in Minneapolis in time to get a connecting flight to La Crosse until the next morning. My mother said someone would drive to Minneapolis to get me. They called Lincoln and he gave up a family holiday to drive my father, my sister Janet, and brother Arden to Minneapolis to meet me. I will always be grateful. This may be the winter of our discontent, but I had a warm feeling as we saluted our friend Lincoln one last time.
*
No comments:
Post a Comment