Weather or not

The peace and tranquility of the aftermath of a Valley snowfall are not at all like the recollections I have posted below. This weeks 'memory post' is not so much a story as a description of prairie weather in the 50's - 60's as seen through the eyes of a small boy.

The climate of Saskatchewan is one of extremes. Because the economy is inextricably tied to the business of agriculture and the success or failure of agriculture is tied to the weather to a great degree, people of the prairies are inveterate weather watchers. Even as a child, I too, was keenly aware of the weather, and became very observant of the skies and the signs of nature that were constant evidence to the state of things happening or the state of things to come. My recollections of growing up are of both the indoor and the outdoor variety. As kids growing up without televisions, videos, or electronic games, the outdoors was our arena of entertainment and activity. Only when the weather was severe, were we forced indoors to find ways to entertain ourselves. When I conjure up childhood memories, the predominant recollections are the ones which find me under the prairie sky. Who knows how many hours we spent lying on the sparse dry grass in the midst of a Saskatchewan summer, staring into the azure blue sky, waiting for the lazy white cumulous clouds to wander by so we could find the hidden shapes in their billowing outlines? The animals, the faces, the outline of countries recently learned about in Social Studies classes at school were easily distinguished and pointed out in the constantly changing shapes, 10,000 feet above our heads.
The weather always came from the west and that was the direction our living room window faced. Our house, being on the hill, gave us the distinct advantage of being one of the first in town to see the storms coming. Keen observation eventually gave one the skills to sense the approaching storm before it was even on the horizon. I can recall the sudden silence before the storm. The birds, knowing of impending danger, stopped their singing and hunkered down for a good blow. Even the town dogs would cease their straying and head home where they knew they could find comfortable shelter from the storm. The wind would do an about face, subtly at first, just enough to turn the Poplar tree leaves in a direction they were unaccustomed to. The groves of trees took on a lighter shade of green as the underside of the leaves were exposed and jiggled nervously in the rising wind, contrasting with the darkening sky.
The summer storms were the ones that made me most nervous as they carried with them the potential for great calamity. They were almost always preceded by a sudden drop in temperature and an increase in wind velocity. The wind was always blowing where we lived, a steady and constant backdrop to all other sounds. The change in direction and speed was matched only by the ominous darkness which would descend as the white edged black storm clouds suddenly obscured the sun. By the time the sun was obliterated, there were bits of paper garbage, grass and Russian thistle tumbling down the street. We were tucked safely away in our houses by the time the storm hit full force, which usually did not take long at all. The lights were turned on and we hoped and prayed that the power would not fail. All the appliances were unplugged and storm doors and windows closed tightly.
The cloud formations were watched carefully for any indication of blue-white edges, a harbinger of hail. We had hail many times, usually on the hottest days which always struck me as a contradiction, until it was explained to me how hail was formed. After a hail storm, which was always very short lived, we would run out and collect hailstones, putting the largest ones in plastic bags to store in the freezer so when the relatives came from distant lands, we could prove how big the hailstones were. The dimensions were usually exaggerated much like the size of the fish we caught at Long Lake. The largest ones I can recall were about the size of golf balls, but I could be exaggerating.
If the storm was nothing but dry wind and electrical activity, the dust would begin to fly, adding to the darkness of the sky. I witnessed some very frightening dust storms and liken them to standing in front of a sand blaster. We always hoped for rain to accompany the storm so not only could the dust be kept down, but the dry thirsty soil could be given a much needed drink. By far the most awesome aspect of any prairie summer storm is the lightening and thunder.
This is why the appliances in the house were unplugged from their sockets. Each building in town had a lightening rod, securely fastened to a heavy wire cable that ran down the side of the structure and was fastened to a steel rod that was driven deepl into the ground, at least 3 or 4 feet. The idea was to direct the electrical charge of a strike down into the ground, harmlessly sending the bolt away from the building where it would otherwise do great damage, mainly fire related. In later years, when everyone had a television, the required roof top antenna would double as a lightening rod, and they made good ones, as the masts had to be at least 15 feet tall in order to get adequate reception from the only television transmitter which was in Saskatoon, 75 miles away.
There was never a thunder storm that approached us that we did not meticulously track by measuring the distance of each lightening strike. We were taught that sound travels 1 mile per second, and light, for all intents and purposes, instantly. So, when we saw the flash of lightening on the horizon, we would count off the seconds. One milk bottle, two milk bottles, three milk bottles, until we heard either a clap of thunder or the beginnings of the rumble and roll of the more distant strikes. In this way we could judge the approaching speed of the storm and, indeed, if it began to recede, or veer off in another direction. I suppose we had a small feeling of control and it diminished the fear of something so uncontrollable.
The lightening was always spectacular, and was mostly of the forked variety. There was so much sky to observe, with few trees and no mountains to obscure our view and it was indeed a memorable and frightening show every time. Often, when the storm was still a long way off, there would simply be a lighting of the sky, like a flash bulb on a old Brownie camera, and very little, barely discernible thunder. However, when the storm came with full force and enveloped our little town, my heart was gripped with fear and awe. The flashes and thunder claps were simultaneous and we knew there was destruction right in our neighbourhood. Indeed, our own house was struck on at least two occasions and an ancient 100 ft. cottonwood tree was felled within a half block of our house. I can remember a time or two when we would take a leisurely drive through the countryside after one of those storms to see where the lighting strikes had taken place. They were easy to spot if they were anywhere near the road.
The most memorable storm for me was a summer storm that had no lightening and no rain. My Mom and I, along with two sisters, had spent the morning at the dentist in a larger town, Humboldt, 35 miles away. As we left for home, we saw the foreboding sky in the north, and were relieved we were heading south. When you are in sunshine, and there is a severe storm in the distance, it takes on a most sinister appearance. The blackness and towering clouds across the horizon stretch upwards to heavenly heights and look as though they could destroy the world.
As we drove down the country road, which was a short cut home, my Mom kept looking nervously in her rear view mirror. It soon became quite evident that we were not going to be able to out run the storm. She put her foot down and soon we were driving faster than her cautious nature would normally allow. Us kids were kneeling on the back seat, staring in fascination out the back window of the car, as the wall of swirling dust gained on us. And it was a wall. We could see no clouds; only gray swirling billows of soil being easily lifted from the road, ditches, and fields, into the air and swirled upwards into what had moments before been blue sunny sky. It was truly frightening. The closer it came, the more detail we could see and then we began to hear it. It was a roar, heard even above the roar of the engine as we sped down the gravel road, not trying to out run it now, but seeking shelter, lest it blow us off the road.
The car braked heavily and we swerved into a narrow driveway leading to a farm yard. My Mom had the presence of mind to race toward a large sturdy barn and parked rather recklessly on the south side of the huge building. Only seconds later, it hit with full force. Even though the windows and doors of the car were tightly closed, sand and dirt began drifting in through the smallest of crevices. The car was sandblasted and pummelled by the wind. We could not see but a few feet outside the car and even the large barn was obscured by the blackout. Just when we thought all was lost, the storm suddenly subsided, just as quickly as it had descended. The dust settled and the sun came out. The only evidence of the storm was the blackness that was now roaring down the road in a southerly direction.
The farmer suddenly appeared and chatted with my Mom for a few minutes as they both agreed that it was the strangest and scariest thing they had ever seen. We were on our way, and apart from the dusty interior of the car, there was no evidence that we had what we thought was a near death experience.
The winter storms were a different thing altogether. I suppose I had no fear of them because they were usually a harbinger of good things. Like no school, or my Father's store staying closed for the day. The roads closed by blizzards and drifting snow concerned me not in the least. After we moved out of the rental, we were fortunate to have a secure and warm house, so, even though I marvelled at the power of the wind and whiteout conditions, I do not recall being frightened. The only apprehension I remember was the incessant howling wind in the night.
Morning would come and with it an amazing array of lacy frost and ice on the inside of the windows, getting thicker toward the bottom where the condensation and melted frost would accumulate and re-freeze. There were winters when there was a perpetual layer of ice on all the windows, indicating a prolonged stretch of very cold deep freeze weather. If we could some how peer through the iced up widows, the visions that met our eyes were otherworldly. The landscape could be completely altered by one night of blizzard conditions, providing it was accompanied by enough snow. The drifts were everywhere and on the lea side of every building, fence, and tree, the snow had curled back on itself to form overhanging waves of crystalline snow. If the sun shone after the storm the scene was even more spectacular, dazzling so brightly, one could barely look at it without sunglasses.
One year the drifting was particularly heavy and we had a difficult time extricating ourselves from our house the morning after. The front door was completely blocked and frozen shut. The back kitchen door opened but the outer storm door was blocked two thirds of the way up by a firm drift. When snow blows and drifts, it is no longer fluffy and movable. The ice crystals lock in a formation that can make it as hard as bricks. My Father, having grown up on the prairies, had the foresight to bring a shovel into the house the night before in case of just such an occurrence, and after a great struggle, managed to edge his way out of the house and clear enough of the drifts to swing the door fully open. There was no school for several days after that storm and I recall spending endless hours carving igloo blocks and tunnelling under the drifts. We could walk on the drifts and leave no footprints, the snow was so hard packed.
When we eventually returned to school, I had a real thrill when the school bus driver asked me and a buddy if we wanted to come with him to get the last few farm kids into town from the more remote stretches of the school district where the snow clearing equipment had not yet arrived. It was no ordinary school bus. It was a Bombardier with skis for front end steering and cat tracks on the rear to ride above the snow. What a thrill to speed over the snow banks, through the fields and ditches, totally disregarding any roads. Of course, I thought that one day I would have one of those.
Years later, I realized how big a part weather plays in the life of a prairie person. Watching for it, hoping for it, planning with weather in mind, guarding against it, preparing for it, and dressing for it. To a degree, people everywhere do this, but, because of the extremes, not to the extent that prairie people do.