Today I was driving from Marshall to St. Paul to serve on an Arts Learning advisory panel for the Minnesota State Arts Board (www.arts.state.mn.us), but things turned dicey. No snow falling, but the ground blizzard was sweeping snow across the road creating an ice skating rink. I slowed down and passed by a car on the side of the road that had been in an accident, a police car on the scene. A little further along, I drove by a truck laying on its side, cars stopping to help. When the semi in front of me decelerated, it was a sure sign conditions were worsening. I crept along, turned on my emergency flashers in case anyone came up too quickly from behind, but I knew I needed to get off the road or I'd end up in the ditch. Or worse.
Minnesota writer Howard Mohr, author of the best-selling How to Talk Minnesotan and A Minnesota Book of Days (and a Few Nights) says that most accidents are caused by one thing--"hurry-up-itis." I agree. I wanted to get to St. Paul for the meetings, but I was not in that much of a hurry. I needed to get off the road SOON, but I was in fly-over country, no towns nearby, just lots of snow-covered fields.
Just then I looked up and saw the sign for the turn-off to Wood Lake. A good friend lived in a farmhouse a mile down the road. If I could make it there, I'd be safe.
To my relief, Mary was home. She welcomed me warmly with delicious hot tea and home-made Raspberry-Sage Thumbprint cookies--amazing. "You must stay for the night," she insisted. I did not resist.
It can be dangerous living in fly-over country, out on the wind-swept prairie, especially in the depths of winter. When I left town earlier, the weather was clear and fine. But things can go south fast out here. On an icy, frigid night, a warm, welcoming farmhouse with good food, lively conversation and laughter is like a slice of heaven.
Minnesota writer Howard Mohr, author of the best-selling How to Talk Minnesotan and A Minnesota Book of Days (and a Few Nights) says that most accidents are caused by one thing--"hurry-up-itis." I agree. I wanted to get to St. Paul for the meetings, but I was not in that much of a hurry. I needed to get off the road SOON, but I was in fly-over country, no towns nearby, just lots of snow-covered fields.
Just then I looked up and saw the sign for the turn-off to Wood Lake. A good friend lived in a farmhouse a mile down the road. If I could make it there, I'd be safe.
To my relief, Mary was home. She welcomed me warmly with delicious hot tea and home-made Raspberry-Sage Thumbprint cookies--amazing. "You must stay for the night," she insisted. I did not resist.
It can be dangerous living in fly-over country, out on the wind-swept prairie, especially in the depths of winter. When I left town earlier, the weather was clear and fine. But things can go south fast out here. On an icy, frigid night, a warm, welcoming farmhouse with good food, lively conversation and laughter is like a slice of heaven.
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