~A Winter to Remember~

“‘Tis the year’s midnight, and it is the day’s,
Lucy’s, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks;
The sun is spent, and now his flasks
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays;
The world’s whole sap is sunk;
The general balm th’ hydroptic earth hath drunk,
Whither, as to the bed’s feet, life is shrunk,
Dead and interr’d; yet all these seem to laugh,
Compar’d with me, who am their epitaph.”
~A Nocturnal upon St. Lucy’s Day
By John Donne

This winter has been a notable one for this area. Perhaps, even for the whole state. People I meet–at the grocery store, at church, at the gas pump–often remark on the winter and all the snow. Recently I was told, “It’s been so long since we’ve had a REAL winter like this, no one knows what to do with it,” and the guy who works on our windmills and wells told Jon, “I have moved more snow in the last month than I have in a decade.”

Winter is–meteorologically–our longest season in western Nebraska, but the duration can vary widely. Snow and cold can easily begin in October and even September, lasting until late May. These snows and cold spells are often interrupted by warming trends—a brown, mild February is just as common as a white and frigid one. Rare is the year where the snow falls at the start of the season and sits on the ground until spring. Such winters are deeply etched into the minds of the people here, especially the ranchers who work everyday outside in the elements. The winter of 1978-79 has been brought up repeatedly this year, comparisons drawn by those who lived through that long, cold winter years ago.

My husband, who is a cooperative weather observer for Ellsworth now since 2001 can confirm that the hard winter thus far isn’t a figment of our imaginations. We’ve had two and a half feet of snow already this winter, and that total is much less than surrounding areas. Only one day has had temperatures over 50 in the last month or more, and we haven’t been above freezing for a week. The forecast promises more snow and temperatures to drop to sub-zero next week, ensuring the snow will linger into February at the very least. Snow that has been on the ground, covering the range, every day since December 13th. According to his records, this is the snowiest cold winter we have had in all the years he has been keeping the data.

Many here are weary of it. I tread carefully in conversations about the weather. Lately I’ve taken to asking, “Are you someone who hates all this snow and cold or doesn’t mind?” The snow and ice have caused motor-vehicle accidents, and many I know have taken spills and had injuries, and even broken bones. I don’t mind winter, in fact I have learned to relish the beauty of the snow and cold, but understand many do not share my sentiments.

For a rancher like my husband, winter is a time of consumption rather than production. A season of scarcity. The cows–with range all covered in snow–must live on whatever we haul them: protein tubs, hay, grain. In years like this one where the snow lingers long, he counts hay bales and worries about feed; will there be enough? Cold, calm days guarantee he will have ice to chop and pitch at the tanks without solar mills, and snowfall means he must shovel bunks before he can feed. The short days make his project work more difficult to complete. Winter to him means sore shoulders, a sore back, and a sore temperament. He doesn’t say as much or wax poetic like I do, but I know he suffers a bit of seasonal depression in the winter months, and longs for spring and sunlight and green grass. He looks forward to a pasture filled with baby calves, a length of fence repaired, and—in the summer months—a valley full of bales at the end of the day. I wonder how many other ranchers–being the producerists and outdoorsmen and women that they are–feel the same way?

Today I drove back to the house after giving Jon a ride to Ellsworth. We had surprised a jackrabbit in the corrals at Ellsworth, the first one I had seen in a great while. He was small, with a black tail and tipped ears, the rest of him all speckled white, and Jon asked me to stop the pickup and watch. “Wait and see where he goes,” he said. We waited as the hare loped toward the shed where the protein lick tubs are stored, but then cut and went around. Jon said the jackrabbit had been hanging out there, and he suspected eating on the tubs since range was so scarce.

As I drove back into our valley at home, admiring the freckled snow on the hills—so much a part of them now that it would seem odd without—I thought how special this spring will be. After such a long winter full of snow and cold, we will truly rejoice, truly celebrate spring.