1984, Not by George Orwell

Spring is taking its sweet time in arriving on the great plains. So is rain. The countryside is terribly parched and we look both skyward and tv-ward in hopes of something wet. Some are skeptical about the two extra days off the kids will have this weekend (Friday and Monday) for unused storm days. More than once I have heard, "We could still have a heck of a snow storm."

And oh yes, once upon a time we did! In 1984 we had 24 inches on the 24th of April. Those were my little words of rote to remember the storm data. In actuality, the storm started on the 24th and ended about 3 days later, back when this part of western North Dakota could still kick up a three day storm.

It started as rain, then slush and by nightfall it was snow. It was my second worst snowstorm as a farmer's wife. The first, being the infamous '75 snirt storm, which by the way was my first blizzard on the farm. We played Monopoly for three days; I must have been struck by love as I should have been packing! There were many many storms between '75 and '84, but those two captured 1st and 2nd place. Third - was another doozy in early April of '97. By the numbers, we are due for some type of decade event.

Anyway, returning to April of '84, we were smack dab in the middle of calving, as were all our neighbors, back when the countryside had neighbors. Each spring we moved the cows to our side of the river, up on the flats. They wintered on the river at the Espeseth home place. Moving the herd usually took place shortly before the first of the calves were due. Our side was sandy, sunny and dry, most of the time. Even if it did get ugly, the cows and calves weren't knee deep in muck as the river bottom could be in spring time.

So this fateful spring storm built up its furry and dumped on us with no mercy in site. Early in the storm the cows stayed up on the prairie, with hay and straw. Soon Myles fed them over the ridge down by the river, as it offered more protection. Before long a few calves were hauled up into the house as there was no real place to get them warmed. One was in the basement, getting lots of furious rubbing, and one was in the bathtub. He or she, I don't remember what, was almost iced and needed immediate treatment. Warm water was the only option left.

Before long the ridge along the river had drifts too high and too deep to get down there with the tractor, so all that was left was to wait it out, in hopes the calves that were ready to be born would wait as long as possible to "hit the ground."

Now comes the frustrating half of the story: I must have spent too much brain power remembering the 24 in 84 on the 24th, because I don't recall the outcome. I vaguely think one of the house calves died. But after that I just plain don't remember. Often I think "no news is good news," so possibly we didn't have a crisis with calves or cows. Spring blizzards may have their ferociousness, but one thing they haven't mastered is staying around for long. Soon the prairies were with bare ground and the crocuses were springing up in the pastures.

Whether we get a spring blizzard, thunderstorms, even spit showers would be welcome, let the heavens open up, please! We have burning bans, with the latest - only gas grills permitted for barbequeing. So each day we wait, and then wait some more. Maybe the early assumption of casting off unused storm days will be like washing your car or windows, only to have it rain! That would be nice.