Farch again

It's a mess--the weather that is. 

Sunday, it was so awful that all around town church was called off. Northwest winds swept out of Alberta as if chased by ICE, and snow fell, three to five. Now listen, we've had 70-degree weather three weeks ago. To be assaulted/insulted by yet another weekend blizzard--we've had a few this season and they're almost predictably come on Sunday (the Devil's doing it!)--was hard to take. Yesterday, Tuesday, the high never cleared freezing, and the low shouldn't be spoken of in polite society. 

Now hold on to your seat. Today--Wednesday--the thermometer will supposedly climb to 50, Friday 60, Saturday 70, Sunday 80. Seriously. Sometimes you just can't help but wonder how on earth those sodbusters made it out here. Now you know why just seeing the buffalo herd far away over the hills at Broken Kettle makes me soul sing. Through the millennia, they figured out the way to live out here where the weather always comes in spades.

There aren't a ton of photographs in my files from Farch, in part (and I hate to say this) because beauty is hard to find right about now. Give the green an inch or two in a few weeks, and the awakening will be beautiful. New snow makes the world virginal, but by March bridal gowns have become a cliche.

You do what you can. These are from March 21, 2009, fifteen years ago. Given the circumstances, I think I did okay. I'm a couple of miles out of Hawarden on the banks of the Big Sioux.

And, sure enough, here's the dawn, the Big Sioux running like liquid gold.

 Tell you what--let me just drop a small herd of buffalo in here for your and my mental health. I know, I know--it's not Farch and there are no bison west of Hawarden. But sometimes they can be so wonderful. See 'em down there on the ridge of a hill.

All's well that ends well.