Last week my home stomping grounds were buried under more snow than they have seen in decades. For three days the snowflakes fell and piled up deeper and deeper until some areas had nearly 3 feet of snow. The much-needed moisture closed roads, stranded motorists, broke tree limbs and collapsed roofs with the weight. It seems as though the first snow of winter every year brings out the people who forgot what snow is all about and how we are supposed to behave when winter appears.

                  Four-wheel drive vehicles, cell phones and our on-demand culture have made some people forget that winter is a vicious beast. White out conditions, black ice and frigid temperatures make getting stranded out on the road a life-threatening event. Add onto this fact that in rural areas, the emergency services are largely volunteer with limited resources, making the decision to drive around a road closed barrier or to trust your life to an online search engine to find you an alternate route down a country road makes you certifiably a moron. With all the advancements in our transportation and communication, we are still at the mercy of the weather.

                  In 1931, there was a tragedy that shook the nation. It took place outside Towner, Colo., on the far eastern plains. A school bus was carrying children home from school when it became stuck in a blizzard. The bus driver along with five children froze to death before help was able to reach them. The survivors were stranded in the bus for 33 hours until help arrived. All of the surviving children were hospitalized with pneumonia and the tragedy changed an entire community forever.

                  My dad, his father and a friend were once stranded with a neighbor for three days when a blizzard prevented them from making it home. Nobody slept much as grandpa and his friend both snored loudly and were forced to share a bedroom in the small farmhouse. One of the men would fall asleep for a while only to be jabbed in the ribs by their roommate to silence their snoring. Richard, the friend, also smoked like a freight train. Sometime during the first stranded day, he ran out of smokes. Between cabin fever of being stranded, lack of sleep and no nicotine, the atmosphere was rather tense from time to time. When the county finally broke though with a grader, a trailing pickup was bringing groceries to people who had been snowed in. Thankfully for Richard, between the grader operator, and those in the pickup, there was chewing tobacco, cigarettes and a cigar. Richard had all three going at the same time to calm his frazzled nerves.

                  Many of the old timers in eastern Colorado talk about the blizzard of 1977. There are several stories about loss of livestock, schools being closed for weeks and drifts as high as tall shop buildings. One of my favorite stories, however, is how a rancher survived the blizzard in the cab of his pickup. He had gone out to break ice for cows to drink, but on the way home he got stuck and couldn’t even tell what direction he was pointed from the heavy snow and driving wind. Those of us who grow up where winter can be brutal know that if you become stranded, you can’t run your vehicle constantly or you run the risk of carbon monoxide poisoning. To stay warm in the cab of his pickup, the rancher took two hubcaps off and tore up the seat and mixed the foam with some motor oil to build a small fire. He cracked the windows so that the smoke would escape and burned foam and oil until the storm broke enough that he could see to walk his way to the house, a day after he had left. He was covered in soot and his wife didn’t recognize him, but he had survived.                  

Winter on the high plains is no joke. It’s wiped-out herds of cattle, widowed wives and caused immense damage. When the snow starts to fly and the wind begins to blow, remember that no cow, trip to the grocery store or any other travel plan is worth your life. Plan ahead, dress warmly and use common sense. That’s all for this time, keep tabs on your side of the barbed wire and God bless!

Meinzer is a fourth-generation rancher raised on the southeastern plains of Colorado. He and his family live and ranch in Oshkosh, Neb.