Iowa Winters
February 17, 2008 by DM
Today we’re in the middle of another Winter storm. At 6 AM this morning it was rain changing to ice- the thermometer said it was 20 degrees. By 9 the rain was changing into large snow flakes. which we’re due to get between 4 to 10 more inches of along with the winds.
As I sit here, my mind keeps going back to the accounts of life in Iowa from 1837-1880. Last night I read the following excerpt to my wife from the book Iowa Sketches- by John Newton Hughes -edited by Michele Shover. The author talks about the Hughes Family in Rural Nineteenth Century Scotch Grove, Jones County Iowa in the 1800’s:
” In the dead of winter, when skies were clear and snow deep, farmers were then getting their year’s supply of wood for fuel, their timber for posts and rails, their dimension timbers for framing of farm buildings….A procession of bobsleds with axes for cutting and chains for binding the logs, and poles and timbers tied securely to the bobsleds for the journey homeward. With well-matched teams of spirited horses, trim and slick and glossy from good feed and early winter’s rest. Here, a pair of dapple greys, their check-reins taut, their silver mane and tail waving in the morning breezes. Next a team of blaze-faced, white-footed sorrels; then a span of blacks, each girdled with his string of bells that made sweet music, or so we thought, at every move of those nimble limbs. Witness the scene as the procession moved gently and firmly on. No roar of engine or blur of gear or clash of clutch or honk of horn; only the hoof of horses and steel of sled runner on the noiseless snow, and the bells always jingling and pealing in the crisp, frost air; only these and their merry jingle, jingle, jingle. A thousand notes medlied, mixed and confused, yet always in harmony, always sweet; always stirring…often a half-dozen bobsleds might be seen approaching our highway from the west; sometimes even more, all in one silent company and driving as close as comfort and safety would permit….
In the afternoon or early evening the whole picture was changed. The journey reversed. They were bound homeward. Then the woods empty themselves as by magic and from narrow trails, the teams appeared, moving, seemingly from nowhere, into the prairie. They were headed homeward. The sleds were heavily loaded. there were groaning now, and screeching and barking as the iron runners sank into the hard packed snow, and crunched and smoothed out every hummock or irregular surface. Some were loaded with logs, others with cord wood, still others with long poles suitable for dimension timbers. Others laden with wood of many lengths and when suitably dried from the summer’s sun would find its way in the cook-stove. The men were tired after a long day at work in the woods. There is not much gaiety and little thought for the pipes. The horses are tired too. But they have pep and courage; they lean forward in their collars, the harness creaks under the strain- you feel that the traces must surely snap. Their hoofs dig into the snow, though by much travel it is as hard as ice. Their fine legs twist and tremble as they feel for footing in the ice and snow. The whole picture was that of rugged individualism that has made its mark on he economy of our age.”
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Note: A special thank you to Michele Shover for helping us get a copy of this book.
As I sit here waiting for my pretzels to bake in the oven, thinking about my warm bed with the mattress heating pad turned on low, the full spectrum reading light I have that simulates sunshine- the fact that I can take a hot bath with the twist of a handle/ the fact I don’t have to go out doors to use the “privy”… I have to tell you we have it pretty good. My grandpa used to say this about the “good old days” before he died:
“The good old days- ha- you can have them!”
What do you do to stay encouraged in the Winter months?
