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.
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 . . .
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
Psalms 46:10-11
Lesa K. Reid
