Between the snowstorm forecasts and the Super Tuesday primary election results last night, central Iowa’s airwaves were fairly dancing with activity. As the snow and NPR’s election predictions flew, I drove along our little gravel road to Bible study. The snow was drifting across the road, and I wondered if I should be out in such weather.
Without so much as a warning bell, I thought of the 1982 movie Man from Snowy River and I was back in Camp Crook, South Dakota where we lived when the movie was released. VCRs were new technology then and the local grocery store made a tidy profit renting both VCR machines and movies, at least until people started buying their own. Our little town was in the heart of cowboy country, and Man from Snowy River was a favorite rental.
Big snowstorms were common on the high, short grass prairie, so they had to get downright nasty before people stayed home or school was called off. Usually if it got snowing at a pretty good clip, our friend Donnie Stryker would call and ask, “You want to go to Gerald and Becky’s for supper? We’ll pick you up in the four-wheel drive.” We’d get bundled up and climb into their their truck, wedging ourselves and baby Allen into the supercab which was already crowded with Donnie and his wife Connie and their four children. After a quick stop at the grocery store to rent Snowy River, we were on our way.
Gerald and Becky Burghduff lived on a ranch ten miles north of town with their children. The first time we drove to their place in a storm I was a bit disconcerted by Donnie’s announcement as he turned onto the Burghduff’s lane. He yelled to be heard above the kids and the screaming wind. “Gerald said that down here a little ways the driveway is blowed shut. Said to take to the ditch and we’d make it just fine.”
I was glad it was dark so no one saw me turn green. I held our baby close, clutched Hiram’s hand and hoped that the three of us would die quickly. Donnie drove down the ditch and before I was done praying, we were at the Burghduffs.
We ate big bowls of chili and cheese, then settled in front of the TV to watch the movie. Donnie and Gerald analyzed the horses and their riders. Becky and Connie cried over the love scene. I studied Kirk Douglas’s make up. The kids begged Hiram to be their horse, and he obliged. When the movie was over, considerable time was spent discussing how the actor had stayed in the saddle as the horse plunged down the steep hillside. Was the rider a stunt man? How could they film something like that? The cowboys were never satisfied with the answers they came up with. Finally, we piled into the truck and drove through the snow towards town.
I studied the tiny drift on the road in front of me. Of course I should be out in this weather, I told myself, scoffing at my Iowa wimpyness. With firm hands I gripped the steering wheel and plowed through the tiny snowdrifts.
I didn’t need to drive in the ditch. All the same, it was a comfort to know it was there.
