ADVERTISEMENT

ADVERTISEMENT

The Last Windrow: Boston, we feel your pain

We who live in the Northland feel a certain sympathy for our brothers and sisters in the Boston and New England area this winter. We know how it feels to experience a never-ending winter. We've been there. It's a good thing the pilgrims aren't la...

We who live in the Northland feel a certain sympathy for our brothers and sisters in the Boston and New England area this winter.

We know how it feels to experience a never-ending winter. We've been there. It's a good thing the pilgrims aren't landing on Plymouth Rock this winter.

The winter we've experienced so far has paled in comparison to those winters most of the readers of this column remember. Only recently have we received even a pittance of snow.

There were actual reports around here of chipmunks coming out of their cozy dens early in January with perplexed looks on their little faces. Ducks were seen migrating north when they should have been providing targets for southern hunters. Raccoons were seen ambling across the countryside.

Our New England friends are finding out the hard way what it's like not to be able to find your car in the parking lot after its been covered with a snowdrift. They know what it's like to feel the sting of snow pellets as the wild wind blows them back in your face from the snowblower's chute.

ADVERTISEMENT

And, they've found out what it's like to shove three feet of snow off your house roof while trying to keep your balance. It's not much fun.

The blizzard I remember most since moving to this part of Minnesota was the blast that hit us in 1975. It was called the "blizzard of the century" around here.

For three full days and nights the wind howled and produced virtual white-out conditions. There was no waiting by the radio in the morning to find out if school was called off. Everyone knew it would be.

Those of us who have lived through a big winter storm event know there is a progression to the way a human acts during such a time.

The first day of a blizzard is really kind of blissful. You find things to do around the house, maybe start reading a book, travel to the windows and describe how bad it is to your wife.

Hearing the wind pound against your siding while you're snug and warm inside is a good feeling. In the back of your mind you hope your furnace doesn't croak during the storm; but other than that, it is a good feeling to know you are surviving.

The second day of the blizzard you actually might venture out to measure the snow in front of the house. You might even try scooping a path to your car, which is now half buried. It is a futile task as the wind fills your tunnel before you make a return trip.

But, you're using muscles that are becoming stiff from non-use in the house, and that is a good thing. You might call a long lost friend and explain to him or her how bad it is outside.

ADVERTISEMENT

By the third day of the blizzard you are hoping it will stop. The house lights have begun to flicker and the refrigerator inventory is beginning to look a little lean. You now can't see your car and there is no traffic on the highway.

You start to look at the weatherman as an enemy. You've been cooped up with your beloved for three days and she's become rather edgy having you in her kitchen more than she's used to. You retreat to your corner of the room and stare out into the whiteness.

Most big blizzards last three or maybe four days at most. You know you will pay an extra price as the system pulls away and opens the door to Hudson Bay, bone-chilling cold. Just the thing you need as you work to free your car from under a mound of snow.

There is not a thing moving across the landscape. You see the yellow blinking light of a highway snowplow and you know that you have made it through. It is a great sight!

After settling in for the night after pulling every muscle in your body from shoveling, the weatherman comes on and tells you that there is another "one" coming in two days. There is really nothing like that feeling. You have to live it.

We feel your pain, Boston. We have been there. Spring is just around the corner. There is honor in perseverance.

See you next time. Okay?

Related Topics: THE LAST WINDROW
What To Read Next
Exclusive
Local journalism is a privilege and should be promoted