The Blizzard

Mama was just saying, " I guess the forecaster was wrong", when the storm struck. It came from a clear blue sky. The sun had shone on one of those false spring days that sometimes come in March, on the North Dakota prairies. Spring was abolished instantly. The Arctic wind picked up snow, hurling it at anything in its pathway, and though we were safely home, we worried about those who were shopping and had lingered over coffee in the cafe. We knew that my brother and his wife and two children were among these stragglers. There was no way we could check. The phones were out with that first blast. Daddy tied himself to a long rope to get to the coal pile. We sere safe, but knew nothing of others. It would be two days before phones were restored, roads cleared and news came that my brother and family were safe. Others were not so fortunate. Some died in their cars. Those who left their cars perished anyway. March 15, 1941. My last big storm. I married and moved away that summer.