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  • Writer's pictureMarie

February Blizzard



The wind wakes me at 3 am; it sounds as if it’s going to blow the roof off my house.

I lay there listening until I get up at 5, praying to God it doesn’t destroy what we just plowed.


I leave the house in the early morning, like every day before.

Except this time the road is drifted in, for the plows couldn’t make it this morn’.


The highway is closed with several inches of snow, and the wind is blowing fierce.

I cannot see anything but white and fast moving snow, and oh man my eyes are pierced.


I make it to our other ranch to feed, and drive out with hay to find the sheep.

The tractor barely makes it through the dense drifts, where I find the herd buried in snow, belly-deep!


The ewes won’t leave their huddle; they are hunkered down for the storm.

But I fed them down by the shop for some cover, where it may be a bit more warm.


When they don’t come to meet the tractor, I walk over to meet them instead.

It is in this freezing moment that I wonder why we all just didn’t stay in bed.


Since they won’t follow the tractor, my dog and I try to move them through the drifts and blowing snow.

It’s not very far to the shop, but they don’t care to walk into the wind; and none of us can see, so we don’t know where to go!


About halfway, the poor gals stop and will only circle; at this point I begin to plead.

“I am your Good Shepherd, please trust in me, I am taking you to feed.”


I am getting awfully cold, and they either ignore my pleas or can’t hear them over the wind.

My eyelashes are freezing together, my hair and scarf are frozen solid, and my cheeks may be frost bit!


By the grace of God we finally make it to the hay, and I begin my trek back to the tractor.

I’m excited to be in the heated cab to thaw and finally out of the cold wind-chill factor.


I wait it out a while to warm up and see if the white out will clear.

But after a while of no end in sight, I decide to go so I’m not stranded here.


I can’t see, but I know my way; so I start my pickup out slow.

I don’t make it very far because blocking the gate is a 4 foot drift of snow!


I try digging myself out, but this doesn’t work; so I hook my pickup up to the tractor.

I pull it out of the drift and begin to plow the road that has drifted in since being here only a few hours.


I finally make it home, where I sit inside to watch it snow and blow, and dread what tomorrow will bring.

I am so thankful that I’m not lambing quite yet, and beg God to send us spring.


The next few days continue to get even worse...




-This poem is dedicated to all the ranchers who are battling the never ending and brutal winter of 2023. Like my dear friend continues to remind me, I will remind you: You are strong. Stay strong.


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