We all should have taken off Monday, March 15 to celebrate!
To celebrate and to dig out from the gift of moisture that fell in the form of rain on Saturday and snow on Sunday!
1.5 inches of rain at the Horn house on Saturday and nine inches of snow on Sunday.
Take that, Drought Monster!
While this past weekend’s snow was a biggie for places like Wyoming, Colorado, Gering, and several other Panhandle communities, I’m still waiting to experience more storms like I did in eastern Nebraska in 1968 and 1975.
I witnessed the largest snowstorm of my life in December, 1968. My hometown of Valparaiso and its elementary school presented our annual Christmas Program. As a nine-year-old fourth grader, it was my final assigned chore before the long holiday break.
Snowflakes the size of baseballs was falling as I exited the gym located on the second floor of the old brown-brick structure. Mom had driven the five miles to town to view our program, so my brothers and I rode home with her instead of the school bus.
We would have gotten home sooner if we had taken the bus.
My mother’s lack of experience in driving in a snowstorm came to light that day. The 1965 Ford Galaxie 500 wasn’t a mile out of town when Mom failed to negotiate a curve, and the car slid in the ditch. Thankfully, a farmer stopped by 30 minutes later and pulled us out.
Mom made the remaining four miles unscathed. The storm roared all night, and when the sun rose the following morning, a huge 12-foot-high 50-foot long snowdrift stretched from Dad’s truck garage to the bulk gas tanks. Dad had to plow some of the drift so he could get close enough to the tanks to fuel his truck, but he was able to leave a large portion of the drift intact, which made for some splendid sledding. The drift did not completely disappear until April, 1969.
Six years later we experience a repeat.
This storm began during the early morning hours of Friday, January 10, 1975. School was called off by 6 AM. The blizzard was so intense that I could not see the barn located 200 feet southwest of our back porch.
By the time the storm lifted during the afternoon of Saturday, January 11, our hogs had found a way out of their pen.
Yep, the snowdrifts buried the five-foot high fence and the pigs had found freedom by walking on top of the drifts and out of their confined quarters.
That afternoon was spent digging trenches in the snow near the inside of the fence to curtail our wandering swine.
Our three-day weekend extended to four days as the Lancaster, Saunders and Butler county roads were not clear enough for school buses to navigate until Tuesday, January 14.
Another blizzard whacked us in early February, 1975, which offered another day of missed school. The February snow on top of the January snow hung around until late April.
Even though I was 15 years of age and a sophomore in high school, I was still young enough to appreciate the uniqueness of building true snow forts.
So, enjoy the moisture and its gift of nourishment and life. July and its accompanying dust will be here before you can say Snowplow Robinson.