TWELFTH NIGHT CHINOOK

The last blizzard ended. Chinook winds are blowing hard. The snow, which was low-water-content, is sinking quickly. Today the temp is in the mid-forties and it looked like a window of opportunity for me to get to Conrad to the laundromat and the bigger grocery store. This is normally what I would have done on the first of the month. I'm a little psyched out.

So I went around asking people, “Been to Conrad? How are the roads?” And consulted the computer, which told me the road had frost. This means “slick” almost as much as black ice and just as undetectable except by slipping. Under these conditions one goes easy-peasy on the brakes, giving them a nice little squeeze about equivalent to a little encouragement on the shoulder of a rather tender loved one. Then little pumps, like pats. If you slam on the brakes all at once, you probably won’t have time to use your favorite expletive before you are upside down in the ditch.

Some people said, “Oh, everything’s passable.” Meaning what? Everything was passable to their big drift-busting 350 4X4 pickup with dualies? Or everything is pretty good if you’re an experienced local winter driver? The best answerers -- usually old ranch wives -- were likely to tell you where the bad places were. Homesteads along the highway tend to pile up snow that hard winds can move onto the road, so they’ll say, “The worst is by the Smiths,” or whatever.

The road on the way back appeared to be truly dry. Big semi’s pounding up and down I-15 make long grooves the width of their wheel-base, which means that my little pickiup tends to fishtail and wander. Combine that with sidewind, and a person has to pay close attention and keep a grip. Once I gawked at an eagle landing on top of a power pole and wandered into the left lane -- no one coming. Almost IN Conrad, an EMT truck went screaming past and I was thinking about that so much that I turned at the wrong place onto the freeway -- putting myself against the traffic as it exited. Luckily again, this is Montana and there was no other vehicle.

People who figure out gambling odds might suggest that a short trip -- this is a thirty mile one-way expedition because in the old days that’s how far you could ride on a horse in a day -- would give better odds than a long trip, but I figure one’s exposure to risk is about the same right now, just a minute ago, and a few minutes from now. It’s just as impossible to tell what might happen. Although, the first fifteen miles are on two-lane highway that is running east/west, so that it has to go down into the coulees created by streams leaving the Rocky Mountains, and then back up the other side. That’s more dangerous.

The second fifteen miles are on separated four-lane north/south highway, with more traffic, which is a different sort of danger. I passed a Canadian pickup that had been speeding -- now talking to two separate vehicles of law enforcement. Must not have passed a license plate check. This traffic is cross-border and may have triggered an intercept there.

The laundromat itself is beginning to be an adventure. Four machines and two dryers were out-of-order. The owners say they’re too much work. Not enough people to service them. I suppose I’ll be forced to buy a washing machine. If I were on the road all the time, I’d have to buy a cell phone because there are no phone booths. The television signal is switching over now and forcing some people to buy satellite service. Newspapers are cutting back on paper versions, so you’ll have to have a computer in order to read the news. So far, radio is still accessible for ordinary people.

I’m swerving off the mental road.

Today’s complex Chinook sky shows a great stacked battlement of clouds behind the Rockies -- what some people call a “snow ledge” -- then a semi-circular slice of intense blue sky, shading off into glowing high-ice thin enough to see blue through but much paler. Behind that is an edge of cloud, looking at though it forms a great arch in the sky that grows and grows. The high winds are pushing it and often gives it an edge like a knife where the wind has compressed the vapors. The rest of the sky is standard gray cloud cover, except that sometimes there will be another smaller wind arch in another part of the sky. When the sun sets over the Rockies, there will be an hour or so of sunlight which is just beginning now.

In the towns, the streets are slush and the diligent are pushing it off the sidewalks and driveways. In Conrad there is no chance of swerving into the oncoming lane because all the snow is piled up in between. (Streets wide enough to turn a wagon and team around.) There’s a huge mountain at the shopping center. Last year it was still there long into spring so the temporary greenhouse for plants was put up next to it.

I bought fifty cans of cat food, all kinds they like, plus cat laxative and treats. There are Third World people who don’t get that much protein in a month. Four bags of green stuff -- cole slaw, ordinary lettuce, spinach -- plus green peppers and cucumbers. The year has turned so things are growing in the south, far from Montana. Yesterday was Advent and Carl Sandburg’s birthday. Bill Long, who writes very reasonable essays-by-subscription on things like Bible translations and the Supreme Court cases, jumped Valentine’s Day by taking on the Song of Solomon, all about keys and holes and hands dripping with myrrh! Advent and Twelfh Night is when the Three Wisemen finally get to Bethlehem. I notice that the postmaster has decorated her house with four-foot-tall but quite flat camels, glittering rainbow as they come along with their wise men.

The trip was much easier than I expected. The long descent down Belgian coulee was dry and sanded and so was the ascent back up. A normal amount of traffic. Never met a plow. When I got home, the driveway wasn’t blocked. That’s always the best part. The clothes didn’t all get completely dry, so they’ll be hanging around in the house or maybe I’ll string a line in the garage, although if I build a fire in my wood stove they’re likely to be more smoked than dried. Not that I mind. I’m safe and relatively clean for another month. Now the cats will stop following me around like bummer lambs. Tomorrow the forecast is snow.