by WannaskaWriter
Coincidently, just prior to begin writing January 11th’s column, I had opened the book I am reading titled, “Western Story: The Recollections of Charley O’Kieffe, 1888-1898,” a non-fiction novel about Nebraska homesteaders that my daughter gave me for Christmas, when I turned the page and read: “The dates of this storm were January 11-13, 1888 . . “ Hmmmm, one hundred and thirty years ago today, a three-day blizzard struck the Great Plains. It was called The Schoolhouse Blizzard because it struck while the children were at school.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schoolhouse_Blizzard
W.H. O'Gara wrote a book titled, “All in its Fury: The Blizzard of 1888.”
“The morning of January 12, 1888 [a Thursday], was calm and warm. School children played outdoors in shirt sleeves. Then literally without warning, the storm roared down from Canada at 50 miles per hour. Temperatures dropped 36 degrees. Snow up to 8 inches covered the Great Plains. Furious winds swirled the snow into a blinding, life-threatening blizzard. More than 1,000 people died.”
March 11-14, 1888 one of the most severe recorded blizzards in the history of the United States of America. The storm, referred to as The Great White Hurricane, paralyzed the East Coast from the Chesapeake Bay to Maine, as well as the Atlantic provinces of Canada. Snowfalls of 20–60 inches (51–152 cm) fell in parts of New Jersey, New York, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut, and sustained winds of more than 45 miles per hour (72 km/h) produced snowdrifts in excess of 50 feet (15 m). Railroads were shut down, and people were confined to their houses for up to a week. [Wikipedia]
There are the tons of stories of against-the-odds survival, heroism, altruistic feats done by teachers trying to protect their students against the bitterly cold onslaught that trapped everyone, many far from home. While skimming the text, I recalled, albeit with loss of detail of names and the like, of a Roseau County individual who told Joe and I a story of when he survived such a sudden storm as this, on horseback, totally unprepared for such a similar drastic weather change.
He had been taken by truck and trailer into the high range, then on horseback left to bring the cattle down from summer pastures, something done that time of year. A few hours into the cattle drive, temperatures began dropping, and winds came up. Pulling his fleece-lined coat collar up around his ears, he tied the wide-rim of his hat down to shield his neck and face from the raw wind and snow. Before long it was snowing so hard, he couldn’t see, and so gave the horse its head, hoping it would know how to get them both home.
In the meantime, his folks back at the ranch, had grown concerned, worried he’d be lost in the winter storm. Many hours had gone past the time he would’ve usually got back with good weather, but there was no way to go search for him until morning when, hopefully, the winds had died down. They turned on all the lights in the house, upstairs and down, to possibly serve as a lighthouse beacon.
The man, loosely holding the reins and saddle horn, rocked to side to side, huddled against his horse’s neck. He was exhausted from the long hours in the saddle and trying to stay awake, when the horse walked against a wood slat fence and stopped in the middle of nowhere, startling him. Realizing what it was and where possibly they may be, he thought he could make out a glimmer of light between the gusts of wind. Spurring the horse gently to reassure it, he headed along the fence toward the light and soon came into the lee of the wind near the barn.
I like happy endings.
Coincidently, just prior to begin writing January 11th’s column, I had opened the book I am reading titled, “Western Story: The Recollections of Charley O’Kieffe, 1888-1898,” a non-fiction novel about Nebraska homesteaders that my daughter gave me for Christmas, when I turned the page and read: “The dates of this storm were January 11-13, 1888 . . “ Hmmmm, one hundred and thirty years ago today, a three-day blizzard struck the Great Plains. It was called The Schoolhouse Blizzard because it struck while the children were at school.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schoolhouse_Blizzard
W.H. O'Gara wrote a book titled, “All in its Fury: The Blizzard of 1888.”
“The morning of January 12, 1888 [a Thursday], was calm and warm. School children played outdoors in shirt sleeves. Then literally without warning, the storm roared down from Canada at 50 miles per hour. Temperatures dropped 36 degrees. Snow up to 8 inches covered the Great Plains. Furious winds swirled the snow into a blinding, life-threatening blizzard. More than 1,000 people died.”
March 11-14, 1888 one of the most severe recorded blizzards in the history of the United States of America. The storm, referred to as The Great White Hurricane, paralyzed the East Coast from the Chesapeake Bay to Maine, as well as the Atlantic provinces of Canada. Snowfalls of 20–60 inches (51–152 cm) fell in parts of New Jersey, New York, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut, and sustained winds of more than 45 miles per hour (72 km/h) produced snowdrifts in excess of 50 feet (15 m). Railroads were shut down, and people were confined to their houses for up to a week. [Wikipedia]
There are the tons of stories of against-the-odds survival, heroism, altruistic feats done by teachers trying to protect their students against the bitterly cold onslaught that trapped everyone, many far from home. While skimming the text, I recalled, albeit with loss of detail of names and the like, of a Roseau County individual who told Joe and I a story of when he survived such a sudden storm as this, on horseback, totally unprepared for such a similar drastic weather change.
He had been taken by truck and trailer into the high range, then on horseback left to bring the cattle down from summer pastures, something done that time of year. A few hours into the cattle drive, temperatures began dropping, and winds came up. Pulling his fleece-lined coat collar up around his ears, he tied the wide-rim of his hat down to shield his neck and face from the raw wind and snow. Before long it was snowing so hard, he couldn’t see, and so gave the horse its head, hoping it would know how to get them both home.
In the meantime, his folks back at the ranch, had grown concerned, worried he’d be lost in the winter storm. Many hours had gone past the time he would’ve usually got back with good weather, but there was no way to go search for him until morning when, hopefully, the winds had died down. They turned on all the lights in the house, upstairs and down, to possibly serve as a lighthouse beacon.
The man, loosely holding the reins and saddle horn, rocked to side to side, huddled against his horse’s neck. He was exhausted from the long hours in the saddle and trying to stay awake, when the horse walked against a wood slat fence and stopped in the middle of nowhere, startling him. Realizing what it was and where possibly they may be, he thought he could make out a glimmer of light between the gusts of wind. Spurring the horse gently to reassure it, he headed along the fence toward the light and soon came into the lee of the wind near the barn.
I like happy endings.
I just got in from clearing snow, and it was such a pleasure to read your Daily. As always, your attention to detail brings your stories to life. Thanks for placing the URL Wikipedia link into your Daily! That's a feature not available for comments, but here's something you can cut and paste into your browser that tangentially works for you as THE RAVEN editor: http://www.oed.com/view/Entry/255415.
ReplyDeleteCool story! Just glad it wasn’t me!
ReplyDeleteThe story reminds me of our bottle run scheduled for today. Steve and I decided to postpone the jaunt to the recycling bins of TRF due to the weather, but Mitch Johnson had heard of our trip and said he wanted to go with us. He offered to drive us in his Ford 4W drive pickup. I got a little concerned when Teresa announced, "Mitch is here but he's stuck in the yard." He had gotten hung up in a snowbank at the edge of the yard, all four tires spinning. We shoveled out the wheels. No go. I threw some kitty litter under the tires and eventually, she walked out like a freshly relieved cat. I had never tried kitty litter for this purpose before. My preferred grit when stuck is #5 gravel, but kitty litter will do the job. Thanks Mitch for an enlightening day.
ReplyDelete