North Dakota Adventure Part Two: The Warmth of North Dakota Cold

The written word can be so limiting. You simply need wild gestures and a passionately inflected voice to convey some things. But rich, deep, soul-nourishing experiences deserve to be communicated and shared. Even if their retelling stretches the writer’s skill with crafting words. And even if the real treasures of the matter lie wordlessly in the heart.

Holly’s big idea was that we should all go sledding. She had borrowed extra winter gear from a friend and convinced us all to pile on the layers for an afternoon excursion. It wasn’t until I stood at the top of the hill that a tiny panic alarm started beeping somewhere in my subconscious. I suddenly remembered that “redneck” joke where the punch line reads:

What’s a redneck’s last words?
“Hey y’all . . . wa-chis!”
Translation for my North Dakota friends:
“Attention everyone! Watch this foolish Tennessean do something really stupid!”

Several things about this venture were beginning to give me pause.

First, it was cold. Not the Tennessee kind of cold where you put on your hoodie because the temperatures might dip below freezing. It was a North Dakota cold. Where your own breath freezes on your eyelashes because the wind chill factor registers in negative double digits. If you can breathe at all.

Secondly, I wondered exactly how dense my 49-year-old bones really were. And how much opposing force could my joints and tendons actually tolerate? I was watching other people speed down the hill. The frequency of wipe-outs seemed pretty high.

Thirdly, I was wise enough to understand that what goes down must also come up. My fledgling experiences with walking on snow-covered ice nudged me to consider what challenge awaited me on the uphill trudge. Did I actually have the stamina for it?

True to form, however, Southern Pride won out over tenative musings. In the same spirit that adventurers traveled across these Great Plains many years ago on a quest for gold . . . “California or Bust” . . . I struck out on a quest for the prize of the greatest sled run ever . . . bust or not!

I will never forget that first race down the hill. The sheer panic, absolute abandon, and utter exhilaration will be frozen in my mind forever. My husband rode in the front and I was tucked in behind him. We had challenged Chad and Jamie to a race and our Reid competitive spirit had taken control of the moment. I reached behind the sled to give us an extra boost at the starting line. Then I heard the clear, familiar sound that pushed all fear aside and sent me shooting down the hillside with hoot-n-hollering southern joy. Holly . . . my dear North Dakota friend . . . was laughing.

We careened down the hill quite a few times that afternoon. Sometimes we managed to stay on the sled. A couple of times we graced the slope with our own version of tumbling acrobatics. But every run was absolutely joyous. All previous trepidation was gone. I didn’t break any bones or strain any muscles. Everyone had a blast. Holly’s big idea was a total success.

It started snowing again as my husband and I labored up the slope for the last time. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. Evening was descending across the winter landscape and it was time to leave. I took a snapshot, in my heart, of the drifting flakes and the freezing wind. I listened to the sound of muffled footsteps as they sank into the deepening powder. I wanted to remember it all. The ice on David’s beard. Rachel’s red cheeks and dancing eyes. Mattie tucked snuggly inside her fur-lined hat. Jamie’s cheery chattering and Chad’s quiet grin.

And Holly laughing.
Such a treasure.
Could there ever be anything warmer than that?

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid

North Dakota Adventure Part One: Fresh Tracks in the Snow

Sometimes you have to get out of your comfortable routines . . . and go on extraordinary adventures . . . to test the mettle of your own beliefs. Wake up in the morning to a different vista. Go trekking on totally fresh ground. If what you have always believed about joy and love and friendship and family are really enduring and really true, then your travels will find you enjoying comradeship among the most distant people and experiencing warm familiarity even in the most unprecedented moments.

North Dakota in the winter is definitely an unusual place to find an East Tennessean. But Rachel Ohlheiser, my son’s Fargo-born-and-raised girlfriend, finally convinced us that THIS year was the PERFECT year to spend Christmas week with her family in Bismarck. So we packed our bags, donned our new, hand-crocheted scarves, and left Kirkhaven to the care of faithful friends. “This year,” we assured our fellow southerners, “the Reids will have a white Christmas!”

After leaving Knoxville, we had two layovers sandwiched between three flights. When we finally arrived in Fargo, happy for the journey but weary from the travel, Dave met us at the baggage claim and escorted us to the double-cab truck he had borrowed from Rachel’s father Kirk. Dave’s truck, a red Toyota Tacoma, wouldn’t have been sufficient for the next day’s drive to Bismarck. We would be travelling with three adults, one teenager, one German Short-haired Pointer, and a plethora of bags and satchels. We were very grateful for Kirk’s generous offer of his vehicle.

We deposited our luggage at the hotel and headed to the restaurant where Dave had arranged for us to enjoy a late dinner with several of his friends. We were excited to meet the young men and women we had heard so much about. It was during our walk across the airport parking lot and then our drive through the city of Fargo that the reality of snow began to settle into my heart.

There was snow everywhere. In all the parking lots. On all the roads. In every yard. And, whether my stunned, southern mind could believe it or not, there was even snow beginning to drift down through the cloudy, night sky. Shouldn’t we rush outside and frantically start a snowball fight? Shouldn’t we hoop and holler and dance around at the wonder of a landscape blanketed in white? Shouldn’t we hurry and grab a sled and try to enjoy it all while it lasted? Nope. No bluster. No hurry. This wasn’t the South. The snow would still be there in the morning. As a matter of fact, it wouldn’t be melting until spring.

I made a fresh set of tracks in the snow that unbelievably cold North Dakota night. I stepped off the sidewalk at Ground Round Restaurant and let my southern feet sink deeply into the pristine whiteness. I didn’t tell a soul. I just did it.

And I made myself four solemn vows that evening at the start of our North Dakota Adventure:

1. I would make tracks in the snow every chance I got.

2. I would find a pristine patch of winter landscape and fall backwards into the whiteness to swish out the perfect snow angel.

3. I would watch my son and his huntin’ dog Abe traipse across the North Dakota prairie in search of pheasant.

4. I would NEVER, NEVER demean myself by squeeling in freaked-out-southern-terror as my son slipped and slid the truck across ice-covered streets. Even when he did it purposely. Even when he did it grinning.

I kept every promise. Even the squeeling one . . . you can ask Dave. But I could have never dreamed how perfectly or unexpectedly or wondrously each vow would be kept . . .

Did I find adventure outside of my comfortable southern routines?

You becha.

Was there love and joy and friendship and family even in the subzero winter of Bismarck, North Dakota?

Yup. All of that, and even more.

Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid