“Our daily physical torture, confusion of mind, gradual wearing down of courage, seem to make that long continued hope look like a vanishing dream. For we are in the worst of the winter storm where William Moody Vaughn’s expression “snow to eat” is not merely a figure of speech as he intended, but the phrasing of a bitter reality, increasing in seriousness with each passing day. Any attempt to suggest the violent discomfort of these storms is likely to be vain except to those who have already experienced them.”
~Passage taken from “Letters From the Dustbowl, 1935″
Sitting out here in my car in the middle of this snowstorm reading “Letters From The Dust Bowl” freezing my southern hemisphere. I came out here to try better understand what it would have been like to try to survive a snowstorm in the middle of nowhere.
Reading the accounts of these early homesteaders, it’s hard to imagine how tough these people were–and how soft we’ve become over the passing decades.
Although the revelation is a stark one, this clearly was not one of my better ideas.
Blowing snow and dirt wreak havoc on the central plains, near Grand Island, NE.
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