Blowing snow reduces visibility during a prior winter storm in Rice County. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
AS I WRITE this Tuesday afternoon, a sense of foreboding looms. Grey, with a tinge of otherworldly light, defines the sky. Branches of bare trees lean. Unbalanced. Darkness encroaches, presses upon the earth with an anticipatory heaviness. By the time you read this, my area of southern Minnesota will be under siege with a full-blown blizzard. Unless the weather forecasters are wrong.
But this time the forecast of up to eight inches of snow with wind gusts topping 55 mph seems likely. I’ve already asked Randy to stay home from work because driving 24 miles in white-out conditions would not be smart. Or safe. The National Weather Service warns of treacherous travel, potentially life-threatening conditions. Power lines and trees laden with heavy wet snow could snap.
The weather rather matches my mood. I feel a sense of foreboding on so many levels. I struggle sometimes to see the light for the grey skies, for the oppressiveness that prevails. I wonder what will happen next. What storm is brewing?
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
During a weather event, I can prepare. Take precautions. Buy bread and milk (note I didn’t write, “buy eggs”). Stay home. Shelter in place. Face whatever comes. I’ve lived through blizzards, wind storms and even a tornado. I am a hardy American who happens to live in Minnesota, next to our wonderful Canadian neighbors.
And so that is the approach I must take. Stand strong against the negative forces. Speak up. Continue to show compassion, care, kindness, love. Hold hope. Understand that blizzards don’t last forever, although this one seems never-ending.
A city of Faribault snowplow hits the road during a past winter storm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Every single snowplow matters in removing burdensome snow from roadways. Imagine what a fleet of snowplows can do against the deepest snow drifted by raging winds. I’ve seen the results. Roads are cleared. The snow melts. The sun shines. Winter ends. The trees bud green. That is my visual hope during these grey days tinged with an otherworldly light.
Polls closed last Friday with 23,400 people voting for up to eight names on a list of 50. That was narrowed from some 7,300 submissions.
A snowplow in my native southwestern Minnesota will now bear the name spun off from a line in “The Wizard of Oz” starring native Minnesotan Frances Gumm, aka Judy Garland. Her hometown of Grand Rapids (Minnesota, not Michigan) is located in MnDOT’s District 1 on the northeastern side of our state. A plow in that region will be tagged SKOL Plow, a tribute to the Scandinavian cheer chant for the Minnesota Vikings. That name came in at number seven in the polls.
Here in southeastern Minnesota, Plowbunga! will now mark one of MnDOT’s big orange snowplow trucks. Does that reference Cowabunga! of “The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles” fame? I think so. My girls loved those cartoon superheroes, turtles in a half shell. Plowabunga! was the third top vote-getter.
Coming in second was Snowtorious B.I.G., which totally baffled me. So I googled and found connections to snow, drugs and sweaters.
Anthony Sledwards also had me stumped. Turns out Anthony Edwards is a star basketball player for the Minnesota Timberwolves. That explains it. I don’t watch sports. Travel in the Twin Cities metro and you will soon see Anthony Sledwards plowing snow.
The original version of “How to Talk Minnesotan,” published in the 1980s, is a primer to Minnesota language. (Book cover sourced online)
The fifth and sixth place winners, You’re Welcome and Don’tcha Snow, honor Minnesota Speak, phrases (or versions of) spoken by Minnesotans. Don’tcha know?
Rounding out the top ten is I Came, I Thaw, I Conquered, which will go on a plow in District 7, South Central Minnesota.
So there you go. How did I do with my picks? Three of my eight choices—We’re Off to See the Blizzard, SKOL Plow and Catch My Drift (#9 and which I really really like)—finished in the top ten.
I’m not sayin’ take me to Jackpot Junction, Mystic Lake, Treasure Island or any other casino in Minnesota because I’m not that good at picking winners. But I am sayn’ this annual contest is a whole lot of fun and certainly breaks up a long Minnesota winter.
Blowing snow reduces visibility along Rice County Road 25/197th Street East near Faribault on January 18, 2020. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2020)
WITH THE LONG WINTERS we have here in Minnesota, we find creative ways to get through this lengthy, lingering season. That includes naming our state-owned snowplows.
It’s that time of year again when voting opens in the Minnesota Department of Transportation’s Name That Snowplow Contest. Yup, we started naming our snowplows in 2020. Not all of them, of course, because MnDOT has a large fleet of big orange snowplows. Rather, eight names are selected for a snowplow in each of MnDOT’s eight districts.
The contest, and, yes, this is a contest, garnered more than 7,300 submissions for the 2024-2025 season. Guidelines called for witty, unique and Minnesota or winter-themed names. Rules banned profanity, political connections (thank you, MnDOT) and such. In other words, Minnesotans needed to exercise Minnesota Nice in suggesting snowplow names.
In a nod to Taylor Swift, a snowplow in MnDOT’s District 2 was named Taylor Drift in the 2024 contest. (Photo credit: Minnesota Department of Transportation)
MnDOT staff reviewed the submitted names and narrowed the choices to 50. How would you like that job? Now the public has until noon on Friday, February 7, to vote for up to eight names. Just like in any election, you can vote only once. But not at the ballot box. Vote online.
Scrolling through the list of names, I picked my favorites. Now, if my choices influence your picks, I offer no apologies. You can vote your conscience.
A City of Faribault truck plows snow in the winter of 2023. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2023)
I’m voting for these names, listed in alphabetical order and followed by my reasons for selecting them:
Bob Chillin’—A tribute to native son, singer, songwriter and poet Bob Dylan, who is not a complete unknown.
Catch My Drift—Just because it’s catchy and this is what snowplows do, especially on my native prairie.
Little Plow on the Prairie—A nod to author Laura Ingalls Wilder and the TV series, Little House on the Prairie, set in Walnut Grove, Minnesota (the show, not the book).
Make Snowbegone—A reference to writer Garrison Keillor’s fictional Lake Wobegon and also the way many Minnesotans feel in the deep of a snowy winter.
MinneSNOWta N’ice—Obviously referring to Minnesota weather and the “Minnesota Nice” moniker tagged to Minnesotans.
SKOL Plow—Even if the Minnesota Vikings did not get to the Super Bowl (again), we remain (mostly) loyal to our team and are fond of our Scandinavian cheer chant, SKOL!
Snow Place Like Home—A clever twist on the phrase, “There’s no place like home” from The Wizard of Oz. Judy Garland, Dorothy in the film, was born Frances Ethel Gumm in Grand Rapids, Minnesota.
We’re Off To See the Blizzard—And, yes, that would be a spin off “We’re off to see the wizard (of Oz).” Snowplows are, indeed, sometimes off to see the blizzard.
There you go. Exercise your right to vote in a nonpartisan election. Just for fun. To vote, click here.
Photos by wildlife photographer Dave Angell, exhibited previously at the Paradise Center for the Arts, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2023)
MARCH ROARED INTO MINNESOTA like a lion this past weekend. Louder in some parts of our state, like in Minneapolis northward. And quieter in other parts, like here in Faribault.
Snow falls under grey skies Sunday afternoon in my backyard. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
We got only a few inches of snow in my community. I think. It’s difficult to measure in a spring storm that mixes heavy snow, light snow, wet snow, sleet and rain. Yes, it’s been quite a mix of precip. But I can assuredly tell you that the once barren landscape is layered in fresh snow under grey, drippy skies.
Snow falls, layering patio lights, fence and evergreens Sunday afternoon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
The Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport recorded 8.2 inches of snow, the biggest snowfall of the season. They can have it, although I’m sure Minnesotans attempting to fly out for warm spring break destinations did not appreciate all the flight delays and cancellations on Sunday.
Snow creates an interesting black-and-white grid on my patio bricks. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
Other than attending church services early Sunday morning and stepping onto the back stoop to take a few photos, I stayed inside all day. It was an ideal “sprinter” day (as my friend Gretchen aptly terms this season) to settle in with a good book. I’m reading The Violin Conspiracy, a novel by Brendan Slocumb centering on a gifted Black violinist. It’s a riveting, emotional read. Sometimes I wanted to roar like a lion at the unfairness, the prejudice, the challenges that thread through this book. I’m half-way through the novel.
A few more lions, but mostly lambs, have been added to this March calendar at Buckham Memorial Library since I photographed it on March 16. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2024)
Lion. Lamb. That applies to life, to books, to the month of March.
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2016 from Shepherd’s Way Farm, rural Nerstrand)
If I have a choice, I’ll choose a gentle lamb. I dislike conflict. I dislike sprinter storms that create travel woes, that require snow removal. But often we have no choice. Weather and life roar in like a lion and we face the challenges. Sometimes with fear. Sometimes with bravery. However we react, we are the stronger for having faced the lion. More empathetic. More compassionate. Less afraid. And that is the lesson of March.
This abandoned farmhouse once stood along Minnesota State Highway 19 east of my hometown of Vesta on the southwestern Minnesota prairie. It’s no longer there. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2013)
A TIME EXISTED when I loved winter. The snow more than the cold. During my growing up years on a southwestern Minnesota farm, I could not wait for the first snowfall, which then piled snow upon snow upon snow for months.
This huge, hard-as-rock towering snowdrift blocked my childhood farm driveway in March 1965. (Photo credit: Elvern Kletscher)
Fierce prairie winds swept snow around outbuildings, sculpting rock-hard drifts, an ideal landscape for Canadian Mounties. Snow pushed into piles by the loader of Dad’s John Deere tractor became mountains, rugged terrain to conquer. And pristine snow presented the perfect canvas for a game of Fox and Goose.
Our southwestern Minnesota farmyard is buried in snowdrifts in this March 1965 image. (Photo credit: Elvern Kletscher)
I remember, too, the crisp winter evenings of walking from barn to house after finishing chores. Packed snow crunched beneath my buckle overshoes. Frigid air bit at my nose, my mouth streaming billows of vapor. Overhead a billion stars pricked light into the immense black sky. Ahead of me, windows glowed in our tiny wood-frame farmhouse.
Those are the good memories I choose to remember. Not the near-frozen fingers. Not the pot on the porch because we had no bathroom. Not the house foundation wrapped in brown paper to seal out the cold. Not the central oil-burning stove that never kept the house warm enough.
Today I have it so much better. A warm house with a bathroom. No cows or calves to feed or straw bales to shake or manure to scoop. No dealing with cracked, chapped, bleeding hands. I have every reason today to embrace winter minus many of the hardships of yesteryear. But I find I don’t.
I’m working, though, on shifting my attitude back to that of appreciating a season which is often harsh here in Minnesota, although not in this unseasonably mild and nearly snow-less winter of 2023-2024. Last winter, now that was a record snowfall winter which tested many a life-long Minnesotan. Except perhaps my friend Jackie of Rochester, who loves winter.
The vintage winter photo gracing the cover of Mischke’s book is from the archives of the Minnesota Historical Society. (Minnesota Prairie Roots photo)
Writer, musician, podcaster and former radio talk show host TD Mischke also loves winter (most of the time) as evidenced in his book Winter’s Song—A Hymn to the North, published in 2023 by Skywater Publishing Cooperative. I happened upon his collection of winter writing at my brother-in-law and sister-in-law’s house north of the metro. Jon is about as avid an outdoorsman as they come. Hunting. Fishing. And in the dead of winter, spearfishing on the frozen lake. This seemed a book written just for him.
Recognizing the Mischke name, I immediately inquired whether the writer, TD Mischke, was any relation to Sy Mischke, friend of my late father-in-law. Sy, a “character” by my definition, was TD’s uncle. TD Mischke certainly writes about characters in Winter’s Song.
Clearing snow is a sometimes endless task during a Minnesota winter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
His collection of short stories, essays and three poems honors Midwest winters. Not in a fully nostalgic way, but with a mix of reality. Winters are, admittedly, brutal. But also brimming blessings. The word “hymn” in the book title fits.
A lovely winter scene photographed in 2019 north of Faribault. It portrays the beauty of winter. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2019)
As I read through the short chapters, I found myself liking winter more and more. And that’s thanks to Mischke’s storytelling skills, his attention to detail, his introspective writing, his humor, his honest portrayal of winter in Minnesota. Not everyone is meant to live here. That Mischke acknowledges. But he also acknowledges the toughness, stamina, strength and endurance of those who call the North home. I agree that it takes a bit of fortitude to manage some six months of winter. I felt in that moment a sense of pride as a life-long Minnesotan.
Spring erupts in budding trees at Falls Creek Park, rural Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2019)
That brings me to the second to last chapter of Winter’s Song—“Lessons of March.” It seemed only fitting that I was reading this chapter near the end of March on a day of predicted snow. I’ve never liked March much. But Mischke reminded me that this often grey month, which can throw in surprise snowstorms, should be appreciated for the simple reason that it makes us appreciate April even more. The arrival of spring. He’s right. Winter is often about perspective. After finishing Winter’s Song, I feel my thoughts shifting toward a renewed appreciation for this longest of seasons here in Minnesota.
The unshoveled sidewalk in front of my house stretches before me mid-morning Thursday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
VALENTINE’S DAY BROUGHT our first measurable snowfall since Halloween in this unusual snow-drought winter here in Minnesota. I haven’t missed snow, especially after last winter’s exceptional record snowfall that caused even the hardiest of Minnesotans to wonder if the snow would ever end.
A winter with minimal snow makes life all-around easier. I doubt anyone living in our state would deny that. It’s easier to navigate without snow-packed roads and sidewalks. Randy’s commute to work on icy roads Thursday morning took 50 minutes rather than the typical 32. And no snow also means less work as in no snow to blow, blade or shovel.
I used my new Snow Trax for the first time Thursday morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2024)
Thursday morning I had about three inches of snow to clear, not much really by Minnesota standards. I bundled up, starting by pulling long johns on under jeans. Then I layered a fleece-lined sweatshirt over a tee and flannel shirt topped by a lightweight jacket. I clamped Snow Trax onto snow boots. A stocking cap and mittens completed the ensemble.
I headed out the back door into the garage to grab the scoop shovel and the wide-bladed plastic snow shovel. I knew it would take both to effectively clear snow.
Snow layers my neighbor’s evergreens. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
It was a beautiful morning with a white landscape set against a backdrop bold blue sky. Snow outlined branches, layered evergreen boughs and seedheads. And the sun glittered diamonds across the snow. Anytime the sun shines in winter, I feel better. There’s something about sunshine that offsets even the coldest temperatures, the deepest snow, causing spirits to soar.
My distorted shadow on the snow-covered lawn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
As I pushed and scooped the snow from the sidewalk and driveway, I felt my stomach, leg and back muscles tightening. I worked at a steady pace, not pushing myself. Soon I found myself overheated. I unzipped my jacket, then the sweatshirt. I felt like I was sweating, even with a temp below 20 degrees. Shoveling snow, even if only a few inches, is a work out.
Scrape. Click. Scrape. Click. Scrape. Click. Melding with the scrape of the shovel and the click of studs on my Snow Trax was the splash of tires on the wet roadway. In February, the sun is strong enough to melt remaining ice and snow from hard surfaces cleared of initial snow. I wanted to get the snow off the sidewalk and driveway so the sun could melt the thin layer of ice and snow I couldn’t completely shovel away.
Remnants of a floral bouquet I received three weeks ago lie atop the snow. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo February 2024)
I labored an hour shoveling snow, finishing on the south-facing patio. Randy grills year-round, so our patio always needs to be free of snow. As I pushed snow, I remembered the bouquet of mostly dead flowers I’d tossed out two days earlier. I pulled them from under the snow, laid them atop a patio table. The purples, pinks and greens contrasted against the virgin white snow, visually pleasing me.
On this Thursday, this day after Valentine’s Day, I didn’t mind the snow all that much. It felt, in a way, like the first snowfall of the season. Magical. Beautiful. And definitively more like Minnesota ought to appear in mid-February.
A winter scene photographed from Interstate 35 north of Faribault in 2019. Today’s landscape looks similar. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2019)
“THERE, I LOCKED the cold outside,” he said upon securing the kitchen door before bedtime. My husband possesses a unique sense of humor. And on a brutally cold January evening with wind chills plummeting into the minus 30-degree range, humor is welcome, perhaps even necessary.
Fresh snow blown by strong winds created blizzard conditions in rural areas of Minnesota over the weekend, similar to this photographed in Rice County in January 2020. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2020)
This is the winter some Minnesotans have awaited in a winter that has proven primarily warm and snow-less up until now. Then winter roared into Minnesota last weekend with blizzard warnings in the western part of the state, winter weather advisories and warnings elsewhere, and a much-touted snow event that didn’t quite deliver in my area. Strong winds and sub-zero temps followed.
I use these shovels to clear snow from the driveway and sidewalk. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2021)
I felt thankful for the minimal snowfall of some four inches since I am currently the resident snow remover, a task typically handled by Randy. He is on physical restrictions for five weeks following a surgical excision on his lower back. So, by default, I must shovel snow.
Randy blows snow with our aged snowblower following a 2019 winter storm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2019)
“I should have taught you how to use the snowblower,” Randy said as I slipped on a parka, boots, warm stocking cap and mittens (with hand warmers tucked inside), and wrapped a scarf across my face. I laughed. Our snowblower is massive, aged and not a machine I feel comfortable or capable of handling or maneuvering.
My warm winter boots. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Admittedly, I whined a bit. Not because of the shoveling, but rather the biting cold and bitter wind. As I pushed and tossed snow from the driveway and then the sidewalk, I felt my thumbs numbing. Soon I pulled them next to my fingers, clenching my hands into fists around the hand warmers.
As I worked, I determined I best change my attitude. Right then and there I re-framed my thoughts into one of gratitude that I could physically do this work. Not everyone my age can. Not everyone can due to other limitations. And not everyone has a partner who encourages with humor, even if I don’t always laugh.
Weather warnings like this one have popped up on phones around Minnesota in recent days. This warning was sent to my phone in February 2021. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2021)
Monday morning dawned bright with sun dogs, a temp of minus 10 degrees and a wind chill I didn’t even want to know. I wanted to stay snug inside my warm house. But Randy and I pushed ourselves to get out and drive across town to the Shattuck-St. Mary’s soccer dome for a morning walk. On the way there, Randy noted the crunch of our van tires, a phenomena that happens in subzero temps like this. It’s a sure indication that it’s dang cold outside as are those columns of light flanking the sun.
Pulling into the parking lot, I saw a lot of vehicles. After several days of really cold weather, cabin fever becomes a real feeling. The need to get out and move, just not outdoors, becomes a priority. We looped the soccer field six times, still wearing caps and gloves. It may be warm inside the dome, but not that warm.
I usually drink coffee in my Minnesota Moments mug. I freelanced for this magazine, no longer in publication. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2018)
Back home, I made coffee, loaded laundry in the wash, did some online tasks and texted friends before moving on to writing. I took a break later to empty the washing machine and carry the basket of clothes from the basement to the living room where I’d strategically positioned drying racks in front of heat vents.
“You’re not going to hang the laundry outside?” Randy joked from his comfy spot on the couch.
“Ha ha, very funny,” I replied. Not even I, a diehard of hanging laundry on the line (sometimes even in January), would attempt to do so when the temp is seven degrees below zero. I would risk instant frostbite while the wet clothes froze stiff in my hands. The brilliant sun shining bright upon the snow could almost fool me into believing, though, that enough solar power shone to sun-dry laundry. Yet, the truth of winter in Minnesota—real winter—is this: A sunshine-filled day can be an illusion. It is the temperature, the wind chill, the crunch of tires on snow, the locking of the door against the cold, which reveals reality.
A patch of dandelions at the Rice County Fairgrounds.(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2023)
IN THE DRY, CRACKED soil, among the curling leaves of autumn and the litter, dandelions bloomed, on a December morning in southern Minnesota.
Discovering them at the Rice County Fairgrounds was unexpected. Dandelions are the flower, or weed (depending on your perspective), of summer. Not near winter.
But here these hardy dandelions grew, flourishing on a brilliant sunshine-filled day of low 30-degree temps, seemingly unaffected by the cold. Only a short distance away, snow lingered on the pavement, in the dark shadows of buildings. Remnants of the season’s first snowfall remain throughout town.
Seasons seem to clash. Dandelions and snow. In the summer and winter of December.
Our three snow removal shovels. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2021)
DISCLAIMER: If you don’t want to read the words snow or winter, then stop reading. This is a post about both. But also about spring. And a book.
Three prompts led me to write on this seasonal topic. First, when I was scanning my mom’s journals recently, I came across a May 11, 1966, entry in which she wrote, “Snow on the ground.” This didn’t surprise me. Occasionally snow falls in southern Minnesota in May. While I don’t recall the 1966 snow Mom references, I do remember driving back from my native prairie once on Memorial Day weekend to see snow atop a car in New Ulm. That would be at the end of May.
Secondly, a few weeks ago, Randy asked whether he should put the snow shovels away. I encouraged him to wait. And he did, until he felt confident the possibility of snow had passed. It has. I hope.
With minimal words per page, Schroeder writes the story of a week-long snowfall. Day after day after day the snow piles high around a menagerie of animals. Rabbit, fox, bear, moose… Illustrator Sarah Jacoby’s art has a dreamy, soft quality, just like the falling snow. That both artist (from Pittsburgh) and author understand winter is clear in their work.
Eventually, the sun shines, the snow melts, the grass greens. And spring, so it seems, has arrived. But then, a last page surprise. You can probably guess what that may be. It happens here in Minnesota seemingly every year. Just when we think winter has ended…
Faribo Frosty’s smile has turned to a frown. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2023)
FARIBO FROSTY ISN’T RUNNING away with promises to return next winter. Instead, he’s melting in place, his once broad smile replaced by a frown.
But Faribault’s ginormous snowman, crafted by the Andy Hoisington family, may be the only one saddened by the 50 and 60-degree temps forecast for southern Minnesota beginning on Friday. I’m smiling and I expect many others are, too. It’s been an incredibly snowy winter with our seasonal snowfall total in the top three for Minnesota. This has been a forever winter.
In late February, Faribo Frosty was still smiling and making so many people smile. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2023)
And even though it saddens me to see rotund, 17-foot tall Faribo Frosty slimming down and eventually melting into a puddle, I expect he really will be back. The Hoisingtons have built and maintained an over-sized snowman for 18 years, their gift to the community and a reason to smile.
Snow and blowing snow defined areas of Minnesota earlier this week. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2020 used for illustration only)
I am smiling wide these days as the snow pack dwindles, revealing dormant grass. Everywhere I look, lawns are visible. Yes, snow still covers shaded areas and snow piles remain. But mostly, it’s beginning to look like spring here, which if you go by the calendar, it is. Tell that to the good Minnesotans who found themselves in yet another blizzard earlier this week.
Along the foundation on the south side of my house, tulips poked through decaying leaves even as snow fell. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2019)
Here in southern Minnesota, rain, rather than snow, fell. Temps, though, stubbornly continue in the 30s with a raw wind. So winter coats are still the dress code of the day.
These tulips, a gift from blogger friend Paula (a native Minnesotan) in the Netherlands, popped color into my life in 2020. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2020)
But winter is loosening its hold under pressure from the sun. Tulips and other spring perennials are popping through the soil in my yard. A few more weeks and they will blaze bold hues. And if I rooted around, I expect I would find crocuses emerging under a layer of leaf mulch.
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo used for illustration only)
Another sure sign of spring are spring openers for the Minnesota Twins and the St. Paul Saints. The major and minor league baseball teams rescheduled their openers this week because of weather. No one really wants to sit in a stadium and watch baseball in 30-degree temps coupled with strong winds. But by the time the ball hits the glove late this afternoon (Saints) and on Friday (Twins), conditions should be comfortable, if not balmy by early April in Minnesota standards.
Crocuses emerge from leaf mulch. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2021)
So, yes, I think we’ve turned the corner. Faribo Frosty will need to accept that and graciously exit while promising to return again some day…long after the crocuses are done blooming.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Raging blizzards March 5, 2025
Tags: America, analogy, blizzard, commentary, Minnesota, opinion, snow, weather, winter storm
AS I WRITE this Tuesday afternoon, a sense of foreboding looms. Grey, with a tinge of otherworldly light, defines the sky. Branches of bare trees lean. Unbalanced. Darkness encroaches, presses upon the earth with an anticipatory heaviness. By the time you read this, my area of southern Minnesota will be under siege with a full-blown blizzard. Unless the weather forecasters are wrong.
But this time the forecast of up to eight inches of snow with wind gusts topping 55 mph seems likely. I’ve already asked Randy to stay home from work because driving 24 miles in white-out conditions would not be smart. Or safe. The National Weather Service warns of treacherous travel, potentially life-threatening conditions. Power lines and trees laden with heavy wet snow could snap.
The weather rather matches my mood. I feel a sense of foreboding on so many levels. I struggle sometimes to see the light for the grey skies, for the oppressiveness that prevails. I wonder what will happen next. What storm is brewing?
During a weather event, I can prepare. Take precautions. Buy bread and milk (note I didn’t write, “buy eggs”). Stay home. Shelter in place. Face whatever comes. I’ve lived through blizzards, wind storms and even a tornado. I am a hardy American who happens to live in Minnesota, next to our wonderful Canadian neighbors.
And so that is the approach I must take. Stand strong against the negative forces. Speak up. Continue to show compassion, care, kindness, love. Hold hope. Understand that blizzards don’t last forever, although this one seems never-ending.
Every single snowplow matters in removing burdensome snow from roadways. Imagine what a fleet of snowplows can do against the deepest snow drifted by raging winds. I’ve seen the results. Roads are cleared. The snow melts. The sun shines. Winter ends. The trees bud green. That is my visual hope during these grey days tinged with an otherworldly light.
© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling