The winter weather here in Wisconsin the last few days has reminded me about a story from my teen years.
I was active in music in high school. I played flute in the band and took violin lessons. But my real love was the piano. I practiced between two to three hours a day. Nobody forced me to – I played because I loved it. Several times a year, I also participated in piano competitions at the local two-year feeder university.
Once I had a driver’s license, I drove myself the twenty miles there and back on my own. No big deal. Often, I would hang out for the day and use one of the individual practice rooms, listen in on other contestant’s performances, or sometimes attend an evening concert.
The winter I was a junior, the competition was scheduled for February. My parents didn’t think twice about letting me drive myself there and back. Dad had plans to go ice fishing with some of his buddies. Mom was busy at home.
I got done playing for the judges in the early afternoon, and I was looking forward to staying a while longer and getting a taste of college life. But I felt a strong compulsion to go home. I debated for a little while, and the need to go home felt even more urgent. At one point, I get a sense of someone saying, “Go home NOW!”
I listened. So I gathered my music and my bag and headed home. Part way through the 20-minute drive home it began to snow lightly. It was really beautiful. Big, soft, gentle flakes. Ten minutes later, I had pulled the car into the machine shed and walked to the house. Mom asked me how it had gone, I replied and then looked out the window. In that short amount of time, it was a complete whiteout. The wind suddenly began gusting, and the machine shed was barely visible across the yard.
The storm blew up out of nowhere. It hadn’t been forecast. And remember, this was back in the days before computers, internet, and cell phones.
On the flat prairies of western Minnesota where I grew up, we got almost all of our severe weather from the northwest. There was nothing between us and Canada and the Dakotas to stop the blowing wind. Blizzards would last for a day or two where you could barely see your hand in front of your face. Back in the olden days, farmers on the prairie would tie a long rope from their house to the barn in order to have safe passage to care for their animals. Those who didn’t follow this practice risked getting disoriented and wandering into a field and freezing to death.
The storm lasted until the next day. Dad didn’t make it home from icefishing that evening. He only got about half of the way back and stopped in town to use a phone. His first question to Mom was, “Did Deb make it back home?” It was clear he was deeply concerned for my safety. My normally taciturn father cried with relief and chose to stay in town overnight. He didn’t make it home until the next morning.
My uncle and cousin had also been at the lake icefishing that afternoon. They left at the same time my dad did. They attempted the journey only because there were two of them. My cousin walked in front of the pickup with one hand on the hood to ensure they stayed on the road. They inched their way home in this manner.
That afternoon and evening and even the next day, my mom and brother and I listened to KFGO from Fargo, ND, the largest radio station in the area. The situation was dire all the way across the upper Midwest. No music played that day, and I don’t even know that there were ads. The DJ’s relayed messages to people who couldn’t get through to their home phone lines. There were stories of people getting lost. One person was found in a slough. As people were rescued, the highway crews and police officers told the radio stations and the updates went out over the air.
As the scope of the devastation became clear and as more and more tragedies were reported, I was grateful to be home and for the safety of myself and my father. I also gave gratitude to the force that urged me to leave when I did. The ending could have had a far different outcome.
A few years ago, I was curious about what year this had happened, so I looked it up and found this notation on the Minnesota DNR climate page, under the heading “famous winter storms.” Here’s what they said: “Feb 4, 1984, blizzard in southern MN with severe wind to 80 mph caused a wall of white, even though snowfall totals were only a few inches. Severe windchills. Many stranded in vehicles or fish houses, sixteen died.”
I like to think I would have been okay even if I had gotten stuck in my car. Growing up in this environment, you knew how to handle it. Over winter you kept cold weather gear, blankets, a flashlight and several candles in the trunk of your vehicle. Every year before the first snow when the radio and TV stations gave reminders about winter survival tips, they preached that if you ever got stranded to always, always, always stay in your car. If you left your car, you risked getting lost in the sea of white and dying in a field.
The memory of this day comes to mind occasionally. I have two main takeaways.
In a family that wasn’t comfortable expressing emotion and dealt only with the physical, it became clear to me how much my father loved me. When he called to check if I was home, he was out of his mind with fear. There is no doubt in my mind he would have pushed through and gone looking for me if I hadn’t arrived home. Even now 29 years later, it warms my heart to know how much he cared. He would have risked his life for me, but I’m glad he didn’t have to.
And secondly, this was the first notable manifestation of my intuition. At the time, I didn’t recognize it for what it was. I chalked it up to coincidence and good timing. If I did ponder about it, I tucked the thought away because it was eerie and frightening.
Later on when I began walking my spiritual path, I knew my spirit guides had kept me safe. The compulsion I felt to leave immediately was their influence. Ever since, when I’ve felt a similar urgency or heard a voice in my head that brought a similar sense of clarity, I have paid attention and followed my intuition. It has kept me safe and happy and brought me to my purpose. My connection with my spirit guides is what allows me to live in service in (admittedly) a rather unique way.
This work is real, and it matters.
(This image is a stock photo. The visibility in the picture is actually much better than it would be in a true blizzard.)