As I write this Tuesday morning, my-oh-my how those cold winter winds are howling.
And although I’m no fan of winter, I don’t mind a good blizzard now and then, especially this version, with very little snow falling. Once it stops, except for some fairly awesome drifts to clear away, life returns to normal pretty quick.
If we’re lucky enough to be safe and warm in our snug little houses on the Prairie, blizzards can be kind of fun. I have two Great Pyrennees dogs. They think this weather was sent as a special gift just for them. They can’t stop grinning.
My three cats on the other hand, are using language that even has my ears burning a bit, but since I agree with them, I’ll just let it be.
The big snow blizzards can be fun too, especially through the childhood and teenage years. I have a fond memory, during the infamous March 4 blizzard of 1966, a monster Colorado low, of my buddies and me climbing up on the roof of the St. James Library (still one storey at the time), and jumping off into the snowbanks that came right up to the roof.
We did have a bit of a scary moment when one of the guys jumped in as straight as a fence post and completely disappeared, the snow caving in after him. When he didn’t pop right back out, we realized he might be wedged in down deep so we all jumped and dug like crazy until we found him. He was extremely relieved to see us.
The thing about any inclement weather (year round) and my house is, I’m one of those old-fashioned people who still has a library to spend some time in, which is exactly what I’ve been doing as the clipper blows by.
I dug into some of my old pioneer days books, and checked out some of the wacky winter experiences from way back when.
Here’s a brief excerpt from the Alexander Arnott family memoirs, Riverside Municipality history book.
“Two of the greatest hazards of the early days was the prairie fire in the fall and the blizzard in winter. Mr. Arnott had an ingenious way of getting around during a blizzard when the visibility was zero. He always kept a ball of twine in the kitchen and when it was necessary to feed the stock he tied the twine to his waist and struck out for the stable. If he missed it, he ‘d go back and try again. Worked like a charm.”
These days, for help with surviving a blizzard, that technique would be excellent for those life sustaining trips to the liquor store. You might want to keep that in mind.
Found a couple of other interesting blizzard bits in the Riverside collection as well.
Pioneer Dan Fitzpatrick, during a three-day blizzard, went in search of a shallow well in a ravine in his farmyard, but the snow had covered the pump and water trough, leaving no trace of it. After shovelling down to the ground numerous times, he finally turned the search over to his oxen, who walked straight to the pump and stood over it. Thank you.
The residents of the Napolean Boulet farm had their winter challenges as well. Quoting the unknown contributor: “One winter, there was so much snow in our yard we had to shovel more and more each morning, so at last, we got tired of this back-breaking work and decided to make a tunnel through this bank, going to the granary and the barn. Worked just fine ‘til spring made it all disappear.”
There’s certainly enough snow from today’s blast that I’ll be using my just repaired snowblower later today, then climb up on the roof to make sure the sewer vent is open. One good whiff, and you’re trippin’ baby. Happy weekend.
Comments and column ideas welcome!
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