Most of our recent days have us enveloped in frigid, icy whiteness due to drifting and blowing snow, obscuring the normally visible including our roads, nature and landscapes. During a blow we can barely see our mailbox about the distance of a football field away. Temperatures are well below the comfort of humanity. Forecasts for the Ice Out protests on Friday suggested the coldest temperatures of our current winter will be accompanied with staunch winds. Meteorologist Paul Douglas suggested in a weather column this week that these will be the coldest days of the past seven years.

Frankly, though, I am thoroughly ICE-d out and in need of escape from the inhumane war being waged against our beautiful state by our Federal government. It’s a chore to handle reading the first five or six pages of our two dailies with our president threatening NATO allies and projecting wars not only here in Minnesota, but wherever his newest fantasies of taking over the world suddenly enters his fevered mind. I’ve been in need of nature, or whatever I might see in it within this haze of snowy whiteness.

Rather than fight my rage or cocoon indoors, I’ve instead taken to the country roads where if one ventures slow enough and can still see the grassy edges alongside the gravel, that beyond this narrow measure of suspected safety there might be some interesting imagery to capture. Of course, such conditions mean you must travel with your headlights on and with a prayer or two. Not just because of potential traffic. Combining these temperatures and winds, a simple, costly mistake might be deadly.

For example, my driver’s side window on the pickup seems to be permanently frozen tight against the frame. This means that for an unobstructed view with my camera I must exit the warm comfort of the truck into below freezing temperatures and wind gusts up to 40 mph. Locking myself out is a constant concern. This combination of factors literally takes your breath away and causes your heart to pound. One wouldn’t survive long in these conditions, which causes me to shudder at the thought for those who are unfortunately homeless, or thrown into an ICE truck or unheated compound, and I remain wholly respectful of friends and neighbors who have pledged to protest in the streets of the Twin Cities.

Unfortunately accidents can happen and do so quickly. A day or so ago I stopped for the mail and an advertising newspaper supplement and a few envelopes blew from my hands. Fortunately big bluestem came to the rescue on the envelopes so I didn’t have to wade into the deep, blowing snow out into the open prairie to retrieve them. The supplement may have ended up in Lac qui Parle or Chippewa County many miles to the south. My sincere apologies for littering!

While I would prefer tracking down trophy bucks who have yet to shed their antlers, or some nifty and shifty colorful birds, finding imagery in this whiteness has been somewhat rewarding. These weather-related factors offer varying views of what is commonly seen. A few years ago on the way home from Sioux Falls on a foggy morning my eye caught a glimpse of a wind turbine barely peeking through the grayish haze. Fog covered the base and most of the tower and pushed down from above as I pulled over with my camera. Seeing only portions of the upper third of the turbine seemed otherworldly through the halo of haze.

I’ve found a similar view of several nearby trees these past few days as mystic and barely visible views have momentarily peeked through this wind-driven whiteness. Prairie grasses have bent to the elements as the rasping particles of icy snow knifed through the matted vegetation. Birds hunkered low behind thick branches and leafy clusters, feathers fluffed in life-saving protection, hopefully with long enough soft quilts of down feathers to cover their bony legs as much as possible to prevent freezing. Some hide beneath our deck, too, with the feeders mostly devoid of even sparrows. Occasionally a nuthatch will bounce from the haze to quickly perch for a “happy” meal.

This is, as the old prairie people like to say, a short world. It’s not unlike fog, though much more dangerous. Fog rarely survives in such temperatures. Not around here. We don’t have a lake effect similar to Superior, yet the snow haze seems foggy enough. Almost a pure world of whiteness, except for when you linger over an image where hints of brown, a khaki-looking brownness, shows through. Dirt. Poor dirt after years of indiscriminate farming practices. Yes, dirt is blowing, too, except where stalks were left standing after harvest or the farmer has planted a cover crop.

On a recent clear morning following a staunch eastern windy whiteness we awakened to nearly a millimeter of dirt covering our prairie and lawn. Later that day on a drive between wind storms into the black desert to visit an ailing friend, the winds had provided some interesting art of erosion scenes, particularly on US 12 between Sacred Heart and Hector. I longed to have my camera along although I have a library full of such fearful art.

Often I’ll look out our kitchen window, especially around sunset when sometimes a hint of color breaks through the haziness along the horizon. Perhaps the only light and color of an entire day. Some moments overtake me as I rush into my warm outerwear and head for the truck. Rarely do I leave the end of the driveway for in these winter months a farmer’s windbreak across the gravel seems to align well with the momentary light and clouds, yet on the ground snow continues to flow and blow, with way too much velocity to settle into a drift.

This morning there was a break in the whiteout, and looking out my office window at a lone tree in the distant former fence line, herringbone patterns of blowing snow shifted across my neighbor’s tilled crop field. It was like watching an earth-wide kaleidoscopic show as snow glided across the barren soil, whorls feathering above the driven flow, with that lone distant tree anchoring the distant view. Although I tried, capturing this winter-land magic in a stilled image, it didn’t come close to portraying the actual beauty of the moving magic. 

Snow flakes are said to be truly unique individually, offering microscopic magic without compare. No two are ever alike, according to visualists far more adept than me. Out here in the prairie our winds win over that crystalline magic and beauty, collapsing the individual crystals into waves of turmoil and gusts of obscurity. Either offers a glimpse of poetry. Winter, and snow have given poets, songwriters and word smiths muse for centuries, yet whoever pinned this following piece may have been speaking for a lot of us in Minnesota presently as we fight against both the icy wind-blown weather and our president’s storm trooper-ICE mugging and murdering us on our streets and communities: 

“A snowflake is one of God’s most fragile creations,” the saying goes, “but look what they can do when they stick together!” 

As with a prayer: “Amen!”