NORTH DAKOTA IN AUGUST

MY SACRED LIFE IN NORTH DAKOTA

"Oh beautiful, for spacious skies, for amber waves of grain..."

Robert Browning wrote, "Oh to be in England, now that spring is there." I write, "Oh to be in North Dakota, now that August's here." This landscape is sacred to me.

I have never understood why they call Big Sky, Montana, "Big Sky." To me, the sky is small, hemmed in by mountains. In cities, I am hemmed in by buildings. In the woods of Minnesota, I am hemmed in by trees.

Don't get me wrong. I love each of those places. But I can always breathe a little easier when I am on the prairie. My lungs expand more freely when the air is clean and clear. North Dakota, "Clean and green in the summertime, white and bright in the wintertime."

This sacred space, once trod by Native Americans, who revered and honored the land. This space that does not shout out its beauty to you, but entices you in small ways. To appreciate North Dakota's beauty, sometimes you must bend close to the ground.

Bend close to the ground and pull the soft dusty green sage through your fingers. Bend close to watch the grasshoppers - so benign now, so insidious in the Dirty 30s. Visit a prairie dog town and watch the animals pop out of the burrows as if they were in a game of "Mole."

Stop and listen, to the meadowlark. Can any sound be more heart stopping? Listen to the cottonwoods softly slapping their leaves against each other. Listen - can you hear hymns coming from the old country church?

Yes, there are the abandoned homesteads and the crumbling barns. The North Dakota Tourism Department does not like to promote images like these. But, hush, can you hear the murmur of voices talking about the weather and the crops?

Feel the long blue stem grass - tawny as a lion - as it brushes against your pants. Smell the chaff from the harvest. Glory in a sunset unfettered by buildings or trees.

Oh, North Dakota can be majestic too. Drive west along Highway 2 the length of the state in August. See the sunflowers - field after field, brilliant masses of yellow - all turned toward the rising sun in the mornings. Drive back the other direction in the evening and these gracious ladies have all turned their heads to the setting sun.

Stand on a promontory in the Badlands and be in awe at the power of nature to scrub and scrub away at the landscape until only multi-colored buttes remain.

Stand in awe at the terrible beauty of thunderstorms and tornadoes.

Stand in awe of the loneliness, if you must. In his book, "Travels With Charlie," John Steinbeck remembers never feeling so alone in his life as the time he camped out near Jamestown ND, under a bowl of ink black sky and stars.

But I revel in the loneliness, the starkness. I am never afraid here, as I would be in the city.

I know to seek beauty where many would find none. To search for the tiny orange mallow and scarlet gaura flowers. To love the squabbling of the king birds. To be seduced by the sight of ancient purple lilacs against ancient silvered buildings.

To be home.

AND THE LION LAY DOWN WITH THE LAMB

In Dakota Country, March came in roaring in like a pissed-off lion, riding in on the chariot of the gladiator he ate. (Translation: the lion was a nasty storm that dumped a foot and a half of snow in the eastern part of the state.) But in Bismarck the storm was tempered by a little bit of woolly soft weather. Although we, too, were supposed to get the brunt of the storm, we only got 4.5 inches. Plus, the temperature wasn't too cold and the wind wasn't whistling too sharply around the corners. So in Bismarck, the lion might have looked as content as the one in the picture above, with nary a thought about lunching on lamb.
The only problem is that the storm will probably "turn back west" and attack our flanks. When has a Dakota storm ever turned back west? We haven't heard the last of the lion's roar, I'm afraid.

I, myself, came into March like a pissed-off, cranky, boorish, thorn-in-the foot lion. It was one of those days that my skin felt like it was stretched too tight, my eyes wanted to go crossed, my hair decided to grow sideways. A tight band was wound around my forehead. Even my teeth hurt.

I wasn't ill, couldn't call in sick. It wasn't the weather. I've dealt with worse before. It wasn't the job. Ditto on dealing.

Maybe my blood pressure was too high. Maybe my blood sugar was too low. Maybe the ion balance in the air was wrong.

Pure and simple, it was just one of those days when I wasn't in sync with my body. If I were a lion the burrs would be sticking in my coat, the wild game would be scarce and the flies would be buzzing around my head. Not to mention that pesky thorn.

In short, I was cross. Don't you love that word? "I'm cross, so don't cross me." Don't you wish that on those days, you could just let off a few well-timed roars? Just let it out in a primal scream.

Those are the kind of days that you want to tell the people that annoy you: "Hey, I've got one nerve left and you're getting on it." Better, yet, let's throw those annoying people to the lions and tell the lions "Bon Appetit."

"My damn paw hurts and somebody better come take this this thorn out of it," says the lion. The human says, feed me some soup, give me a hug, tell me how great I am. Better yet, just go away and let me take a nap. Tomorrow will be better, and it's just 45 days until spring by the Julie-n calendar.

Comment added Friday, March 2: Worse sh--, different day. Dakota storms do turn back west. The Bismarck lion ate the lamb. There's not one woolly curl left. This day gives new meaning to the phrases "ground drifting" and "almost wet my pants"due to near accident.

GROUNDHOG DAY

I don't expect this post to be a lengthy one. My computer desk is by the window with the air conditioner, and it isn't sealed properly. Anytime it is windy, the cold air comes seeping in, or - more appropriately today - blasting in.

Thank God I'm not living in the movie "Groundhog Day," or I might have to shoot myself. This is the coldest day of the winter so far. If I had to keep waking up to this day after day I don't know how long I would last. It's no coincidence that I picked a summertime groundhog photo. It makes me feel warmer for a second or two and gives me hope that I will once again see green grass.

At least I was able to stay warm and toasty at home. Because so many people are taking Presidents' Day as a float day, I decided to take my float day today. It goes without saying that I am extremely happy I did. The only time I got cold today was when I was trying to convince my Golden Retriever, Penny, to come back into the house. Gracie, the new puppy, had the sense to come in out of the cold, but not Penny. She could lie down on a snowbank and think she was in a sauna. She has a new version of her "throw the ball" game that's driving me nuts. Usually, she drops the ball by the patio door and dashes out into the yard, waiting for me to pick up the ball and throw to her. Now, she drops the ball as usual, but instead of waiting in the yard, she lurks at the top of the stairs. As soon as I open the door, she dashes back and grabs the ball before I can reach it. Needless to say, this is frustrating for me and extremely fun for Penny.

After work last night, I dreaded going to the grocery store. The temps were already low, the wind was biting, my car was frigid and I was tired. I forced myself to go anyway. Thank goodness I did, because I would have been without a car and food for the weekend. Dan had to use my car today, his car being without a working heater fan. I will graciously offer my car to him tomorrow too, because I am not venturing out anytime soon. Certainly not tomorrow, and hopefully not even Sunday (Can I use cold as an excuse not to go to a Super Bowl party?).

Channel 7's teaser for the evening news went something like this: "We North Dakotans are a hearty bunch, but today it's cold even for us." Ya think? It promises to be from -20 to -30 tonight, -40 to -50 wind chill. We have a saying here in North Dakota: "Forty below keeps the riff-raff out." Today, I think I'd gladly welcome a few more riff-raff in if I could trade them for about 80 more degrees. How bad can those riff-raff be, anyway?

Our mail wasn't delivered until 6:40 PM today. They say that neither rain or sleet nor hail can stop the postman from his appointed rounds, but maybe low wind chill factors do.

Oh, and by the way, out in Pennsylvania where Groundhog Phil lives, folks can count on six more weeks of winter (whether he sees his shadow or not.) In North Dakota, that translates into 10 more weeks of winter. Oh, joy. At least the mailman, when he finally came, brought me three brand new Netflix movies. "Well, it's hi, hi, hee, cocooning I will be."