Minnesota Prairie Roots

“I DIDN’T THINK it would be that bad,” Randy said. Neither did I.

But our drive to and from Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport Thursday afternoon to get our son, arriving from Boston, proved difficult and stressful. Let me set the scene.

As we headed out of Faribault toward Interstate 35 shortly after lunch, freezing pellets pinged our windshield and the wind blew fierce, limiting visibility. And we weren’t even out of town.

A WICKED WIND

Once on the interstate, though, the precipitation soon stopped. But the wind gusted with such ferocity that I could feel it tugging at the van and observed semi truck drivers struggling to keep their rigs in their lanes.

Yet, the wicked 40 mph winds—or whatever ridiculous speed they reached—dried the pavement of the rain that fell earlier in the morning. That rain later transitioned to intermittent snow as temps continued to drop throughout the day. The morning temp started at nearly 40 degrees.

We detoured from our airport route to stop at our nephew’s house in Apple Valley to pick up a Christmas gift and stained glass supplies. Within that 45-minute visit, the weather worsened. But, surprisingly, our son’s flight arrived 15 minutes early. Here I’d been concerned about a possible late arrival due to weather conditions.

As we got onto Cedar Avenue aiming for the airport, traffic volume increased. We blended into the traffic flow, proceeding with caution like almost everyone else. Except the usual few motorists who do not drive for conditions. Snowplows were out sanding and salting and spreading whatever to de-ice road surfaces.

WAITING & MORE WAITING

I thought we would be late and Caleb would be waiting for us inside the terminal. But no. He was waiting for his luggage. We waited in the cellphone lot for a good half hour as he waited for his bags. Yes, a lot of waiting.

Eventually we were back in bumper-to-bumper traffic as vehicles crept toward passenger pick-up. This always feels like a game of chicken to me, trying to wedge into the gridlock so your loved one can see you and get safely to your vehicle. Eventually we reached door four, spotted Caleb, hefted his mammoth suitcase into the back of the van, placed the backpack behind the driver’s seat, grabbed a quick hug and started home.

AT LEAST WE’RE MOVING

Traffic congestion continued, although we were moving. And moving is always better than not. I just wanted to get home before the weather got worse, before rush hour traffic peaked and because, well, I really had to pee. It’s not the first time I’ve wished for a porta potty in the cellphone lot.

To move this story along, once we got farther out of the metro, past Elko New Market, traffic lessened. The wind still blew fierce and snow fell. We were in wide open country, rural Minnesota. The wind swept the snow away like a broom, leaving traffic lanes clean.

SNOW GATES

All was going fine until we got about 10 miles from Faribault. Visibility wasn’t reduced to white-out conditions, but wind-driven snow diminished visibility considerably in some spots. “I bet they closed the snow gates in Owatonna,” I said in the midst of all this. Snow gates, if you’re unfamiliar with the term, are actual gates pulled across the top of entrance ramps to keep motorists off the interstate during a winter storm.

I haven’t read any media reports that Interstate 35 snow gates were closed yesterday. But I did read of a multi-vehicle crash that happened on I-35 between Owatonna and Ellendale at 3:15 pm in blizzard-like conditions. That closed the southbound lane for three hours. Owatonna is a 15-minute drive south of Faribault.

We arrived home at 3:30 pm, safe and sound with an hour to spare before dark. Soon thereafter, our eldest daughter texted that no travel was advised in Rice County. We’d gotten home just in time as our county was now among many Minnesota counties in a blizzard warning. We cozied in for the night while the wind howled, me thankful that we made it to the airport and back without incident.

This morning we awoke to sub-zero temps. And a fresh layer of snow to shovel.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling