Nine years ago this week, my daughter was born during the few clear days between two epic snowstorms. When you live 45 miles from the hospital (and there is mostly only open prairie between you and said hospital), waiting for labor always feels a little dicey.
During the winter, the stakes get higher. Delivering a baby on the side of the road is never an attractive option, and you DEFINITELY don’t want to do it during a blizzard. So, we were very thankful to our girl for picking the day she did.
The intervening winters have featured plenty of extreme weather, including multi-day snow-dumping events, and lots of sleet, ice and high winds. It is western Dakota after all!
But none of these winters have been as legend-worthy as our daughter’s first, when the drifts reached as high as our second-story windows, and the trees in the windbreak were so covered we could walk among their tops like they were wee shrubs.
Her first winter finally acclimated me to my new reality as a western Dakotan. After that winter, I started writing everything on the calendar from December to April in pencil — all plans were tentative and subject to change.
I also had two small children then (and all the additional winter accessories needed for them: snowsuits, mittens, hats…), so trying to leave the ranch during the cold months was more work than it was worth anyway.
But, perhaps, lulled by the slightly milder, or anyway, less catastrophically snowy winters we’ve had recently, and my more independent children, I let down my guard this year.
Consequently, last week I went to Minnesota to play some shows in celebration of a new album. I planned to pick up my mom in Minneapolis and then bring her back for holiday festivities, including the kids’ annual Christmas concert.
During the days leading up to the trip, the forecast looked pleasant: Temperatures in the high 20s and low 30s, no precipitation predicted.
About 48 hours before I was supposed to leave, that started to change, and by the time I was on the road, it looked like driving through falling snow was inevitable. I was mostly undaunted. The snow wasn’t supposed to come with high winds or high accumulation, and it was supposed to start at the very end of the drive. If I hustled, I might even miss it altogether.
It started to snow when I was 90 miles from Minneapolis. The flakes were slow and gentle at first–nothing to worry about — until I got stuck behind a snowplow on a two-lane country road. Driving behind a snowplow feels exactly like driving in a blizzard, and by the time the snowplow turned off the road to plow elsewhere, I was driving in an actual blizzard — even that wasn’t so bad.
Slowly and steadily, I continued rolling toward my destination, barely exceeding 35 mph for most of the drive, but pleased that the roads weren’t too slick. It wasn’t until I hit the interstate that I started to regret my life choices. Four lanes of traffic with no visible lane markers because there was too much snow was not on my bucket list for 2025, and “NO TRAVEL PLANS IN WINTER” is now one of my 2026 New Year’s resolutions.
I wish the story ended there, but the grueling voyage to Minnesota was only the beginning of my travel woes. Snow events continued to line up perfectly with every single thing I was supposed to do on the trip. All told, I got a winter’s worth of driving accomplished in three days, and I am now ready for spring.
The good news is that for the final leg of my journey, while it was blizzarding in Minnesota, it was sleeting in western South Dakota. Consequently, the Christmas concert was rescheduled, so my mom and I didn’t have to miss it while we spent 12 hours driving the 6 hours home. And this week, there are predicted highs in the low 50s, so I can pretend spring is coming if I’d like to indulge in a little light delusion while I recover.
