I have a treasured memory of a sparkling winter day with the temperature hovering near zero and absolutely no wind. Anderson Lake was about a mile west of the farm, so I drove as close as I could, about a half mile away. I then spent the rest of the day wandering on the lake, listening to the deep booms caused by the expansion of the ice, a disconcerting sound until you realize you are walking over at least 30″ of solid ice. It was also the rare winter where the ice surface was smooth enough to skate and slide across, even in winter boots. For several hours I slid, observed the shoreline along the lake and investigated the pattern of vertical cracks extending through the mass of ice. I ended the afternoon laying on my back listening to the ice music and feeling the deep vibrations.

Another memory is of the only time I brought a girl home from college to meet my parents on the farm. Patty was a town girl from Rapid City, an area disparagingly referred to as “the banana belt” for its comparatively warm weather. Weather forecasts were not as accurate 45 years ago as now but I am certain the forecast was not good. At the age of 19, though, I doubt any forecast would have mattered to me. Our journey began in a driving snow and steady wind, but soon we drove into a full scale blizzard, fighting low visibility and snow drifts on the road. First we tried to drive into our farm from the east, but had to turn around two miles from home when we found three foot drifts across the county gravel. “No worries”, I said, “we will just backtrack, swing around to the west and come in on the tar road which runs a couple miles west of our farm.” This try ended six miles southwest of our place when we ran into a stretch of drifts behind a long shelter belt. I was a little concerned now, but backtracked once more, found a passable highway which took us north of the farm, gunned my boat of an Impala through many drifts, and finally buried my car in snow only a quarter mile from home, just in time to be picked up by the neighbors out running around on snowmobiles.

We were home, safe and dry, and I hoped I had impressed Patty with my resourcefulness and bravado. Unfortunately I think Patty didn’t see this so much as a grand adventure, but more an example of suicidal stupidity. I was unaware of this, though, as she spent the weekend in the house with my mother sewing a dress, while I spent the weekend shoveling out the car and the farm. A young man is invariably clueless, and I was wondering why she had no interest in joining me outside to learn about our farm. She seemed to have no interest in the dairy cattle, the snow or anything I was doing with my father and brother outside. She was pleasant, though cool, as we drove home in brilliant winter sunshine on Sunday. but I thought little of it, Then, before our relationship got any farther, she decided to return to her old boyfriend. He was going into the military, which obviously was much safer than being around me, and we drifted apart. “Ses la vie”.

I used to truly enjoy the power of winter, but damage from my cancer treatments has taken such experiences away from me. My trachaeostomy doesn’t allow me enough air to expend the energy needed to tromp through deep snow or to fight against a bitter wind. The exhilaration of being out in a blizzard is lost to me forever. I have become a “weenie” who shrinks from the challenge of majestic winter weather, and it has become difficult to know what to do with my time through a long, tough winter.

This has made the opportunity to enjoy truly nice winter days more sweet. I am compelled to make the most out of any day gentle enough to allow me to spend time out in the world. I had such a day the last week of November. The temperature was near 50 and the wind was light. There might not be another such day until April, so even though I was on antibiotics fighting a lung infection I headed west up on to the Prairie Coteau. Deer season had just begun, an event I no longer participate in, but I like to see who is out hunting by my farm.

I parked near the prairie which had a prescribed burn in 2018, and walked to the top of the nearest hill. My only goal was to view the vista and smell the air. It turned out that I should have had a deer license, as I immediately kicked up a doe and a large buck from a bedding area on the next hillside. I hunted this farm for 30 years and this would have been the best chance I ever had to get a deer on this prairie. The young lovers pranced gaily away, ready to produce another generation to bound over these hills, which pleased me greatly.

That was inspiration to continue my walk. I am considering a land swap with a neighbor, trading 20 acres of farmground bordering the south side of this prairie to 20 acres to the east. I would then restore the prairie on the land to the east, which would provide connectivity to grass on the next quarter and set up a more practical grazing unit for future management. As I sauntered around I considered the possibilities. The land I would trade has been in my family about 120 years, and it will take several more walks to get used to the idea.

With the afternoon going so well I then went down to the linear wetland in the prairie to the patches of sawtooth sunflower (Helianthus grosseserratus) that I had found the past summer. I gathered a gallon of seedheads in an old plastic grocery bag I found in the pickup which I spread on my restoration when I felt better. And with that I decided that a sick old guy needed to wrap up his excursion and head home to rest. There is a long winter ahead, but I was able to be out this day. If experiencing joy provides sustenance to one’s immune system (and I believe it does), good health was sure to follow.

Postscript, January 13

This text above was written in early December when the landscape looked like this at the restoration:

Though the temperature has broken 32 a couple times since then, the post refers to what was the last nice day of fall/early winter. I have had few days since where the weather has allowed me to go for a good walk. Thus, there have been too many days of incarceration in the house and I once more am fighting a bronchial infection. Opportunities of all kinds in life are legion, but precious nonetheless; any day that the intersection of my health and the weather allows a sojourn in nature must be grasped; hell, it needs to be leapt upon and throttled. I will never again get to spend several hours on a cold clear day listening to the music of the ice, and I hope to hell I never fight a blizzard for hours in my vehicle, but someday soon I will walk in the prairie again. In three months the pasqueflowers will bloom and I will be there.