Tag Archives: minnesota

The Deep Chill

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Sports reporter Jordan Willi and I swapped emails the other day. I sent him the hilarious “NFL: Bad Lip Reading” YouTube video clip featuring Minnesota Vikings’ own Adrian Peterson, and he sent me a YouTube clip of California newscasters complaining about the frigid temperatures — 32-degree morning lows and 55-degree highs — that recently plagued Los Angeles.

It’s a toss-up as to which one was the funniest, but for the sake of writing this blog — and because I know next to nothing about football —I’ll write about how easy those Californians have it in January.

I see people wearing shorts outside when its 55 degrees in Minnesota. Heck, I see people wearing shorts outside when it’s 32 degrees. We just have thicker skins up here in the northland, yeah sure, you betcha we do!

Thick skin or not, the below-0 high we’re supposed to reach today, well, that’s just darn cold — no ifs, ands or buts about it. But … I wish it was a little warmer.

The last time it got this cold outside, I learned a couple of things. First, I will not step out the back door to toss a recyclable in my container after rinsing it out in the kitchen sink. The last time I did that in frigid temps, my wet fingers stuck to the handle of the screen door. Oopsie-daisy! (Hey, at least I wasn’t naïve enough to lick a metal pole — we’ll save that stunt for any of those Californians daring enough to make a Minnesota visit in the middle of January.) Secondly, it doesn’t matter how many layers of mittens and gloves I put on my hands, after shoveling the snow off my driveway I will not be able to feel my fingers anymore. I guess the only solution is to not to go out and shovel snow!

Now, those Californians might think they’re going to die if they have to step foot outdoors when it’s minus-4 with a minus 35-windchill, but my Minnesota answer to that is, you can always add more layers.

When it’s 110 degrees in L.A. in July, just remember that there’s only so many layers you can take off before you start getting dirty looks. Here in Minnesota, we don’t care what you look like in winter — as long as you’ve found a way to keep warm. (I’ll try to remember that the next time I wear my winter hat with the furry ear flaps.)

Regardless of where a person lives, weather is always a topic of conversation. It’s either too hot or too cold, too wet or too dry; and no matter what the weather is like in your neck of the woods, it’s always worse (or better) somewhere else.

That being said, it’s still darn cold outside, so take some extra precautions to get through the rest of this week. Maybe stay home if you can, get out a good book, a craft project or a board game and pass the time until the weather looks a little better outside.

As for me, I get to take a little road trip up nort’ for the rest of this week — well, only to the Twin Cities — but still, I betcha it’s colder up there!

Twenty years beyond the twisters

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An apartment building a couple of blocks from where I lived in Clarkfield in the summer of 1992.

June 16, 1992.

What I remember about that day was the heat and humidity. What I remember about that night is sheer terror.

Twenty years. It seems like a lifetime ago, and I’m glad I can say that now. Memories fade, fears subside. I no longer cry in a thunderstorm or hide in the basement when hail pellets hit the window. I have 20 years to thank for that.

Throughout the pages of this weekend’s edition of the Daily Globe, you will read about the destruction left in the wake of tornadoes that ripped apart the communities of Chandler and Lake Wilson and shattered lives, visibly and invisibly, on June 16, 1992.

I was three weeks into my first job away from home, hired as a 4-H Summer Assistant for Yellow Medicine County, when the tornado outbreak swept across southwest Minnesota.

This is the table where my roommate and I crawled under as the tornado hit Clarkfield on June 16, 1992.

More than two dozen twisters were reported that night, including one just outside the community of Clarkfield, where I was living. When my roommate arrived home from the office (she was a newspaper reporter), she invited me along out to the war zone to take some photos.

The image she captured made the top of the front page of the Advocate-Tribune that week, and I can still remember sitting in her car and staring in disbelief as she’d clicked the camera shutter. The tornado had picked up a large, two-story farm house and set it back down, on its roof, with a tree coming up through the middle of it. After seeing that destruction, the street flooding photos she shot in nearby Dawson and Boyd seemed a bit ho-hum.

I don’t remember what time we returned home that night, or how long we’d been there, when Round 2 ushered in by surprise.

The view from our window the next day.

I can’t recall the blare of the tornado sirens. What I remember is seeing this amazing flash of neon green outside the living room window, and screaming at my roommate to get under the table.

We were lucky. We were in a building built of brick and steel. The building swayed, the sounds were deafening; and as soon as it hit, it had passed. Of course, 20 years ago, it seemed like time stood still — that the chaos would never end.

I remember darkness and broken glass. I remember shaking, the uncontrollable kind of shakes that made my teeth chatter.

The somewhat cleaned up walkway we had to get through to reach Main Street. It was filled with tin, tree branches and other debris.

I remember clinging to the patchwork quilt my grandma made, and carrying it under my arm as my roommate and I cautiously stepped over downed wires, found our way around tree trunks, limbs and branches, and walked through water puddles as we ventured first to the Clarkfield Fire Hall and then to the local school, where the Red Cross was mobilizing.

In one evening I went from being a naïve farm kid learning to be an adult, to an adult living as a victim of Mother Nature.

I wasn’t ready to be in that situation in my life, but then life has a way of taking its own course, doesn’t it?

Having survived a tornado, I can tell you the last thing I thought I’d ever do was voluntarily enter another war zone. But then, I had an editor at Redwood Falls who forced me to face my fears and develop the thick skin we journalists need.

Lee sent me out to take photos at an accident scene one day —it was the first time I’d ever taken accident photos. The car was mangled beyond recognition, and I’d learned that a baby was killed.

My car was parked between this building and that little utility post on the right. We had to lift tin from the hood and roof of the car to get it out.

A life was lost and I was taking pictures of the aftermath. It seemed heartless, and for the first of many times, I questioned my career choice. I begged Lee to never send me out on an accident call again, but he ignored my request. A week later, I was sent to another accident scene. This time, I snapped photos as EMTs tended to a woman screaming in pain. As I recall, she had a broken leg.

The more I complained about covering accidents, the more it seemed I was the one sent to take photos. I should have learned not to complain —instead, I learned to separate the emotional trauma from the job. Reporters do that — I do that — and even then it’s hard to get beyond the “life sucks and then you die” approach to living.

Nearly six years after June 16, 1992, tornadoes ravaged the communities of Comfrey and St. Peter. With my somewhat thicker skin, I realized if I was ever going to “get over” the trauma from the Clarkfield tornado, I needed to step into the war zone.

Having a job to do, rather than being the victim, helped me to heal. I could relate to the stories of terror and the questions of where to go and what to do.

The F3 tornado that went through Clarkfield uprooted trees, exploded tin buildings and grain bins and severely damaged homes. Six people were injured that night in Clarkfield, but everyone survived.

There’s a saying that time heals all wounds, and while the first anniversary was marked with raw remembrances, the nightmares for me had mostly subsided after five years. They resurfaced briefly after my work in Comfrey and volunteering as a one-day stringer for the then-sister publication, the St. Peter Herald.

I can honestly say it’s been a while since I’ve awoken from nightmares of twisters chasing after me. Then again, I don’t watch the weather channel and you can’t force me to watch the movie, “Twister.”

Today marks the 20th anniversary since that night of terror in Clarkfield. It seems a bit of a relief to be able to say that. OK, 20 years have passed. I’ve moved on. I’ve changed. I’ve survived.

Gov. Dayton declares Minnesota TB-Free

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Gov. Mark Dayton has declared today, Dec. 7, 2011, as TB-Free Day in Minnesota. The declaration marks the end of a six-year battle in the state to eradicate bovine tuberculosis and regain its TB-Free status.

In making the declaration, Dayton acknowledged the dedication shown by Minnesota livestock farmers, the Minnesota Board of Animal Health, the Minnesota Departments of Agriculture and Natural Resources, the U.S. Department of Agriculture, agricultural groups, state legislators and numerous other state agencies over the past six years.

With the help of nearly 500 veterinarians, Minnesota producers tested 758,929 head of cattle and bison for bovine TB over the past six years, while the Board of Animal Health tracked thousands of animal movements, ensuring effective animal traceability.

Dayton said the state’s cattle producers contributed nearly $1 million to help support bovine TB eradication efforts.

Approximately 14 miles of deer exclusion fencing was erected on northwest Minnesota farms in the management zone to stop the spread of bovine TB; andMinnesota deer hunters worked with the Minnesota DNR to test 13,841 wild deer for the bacterial disease. Of the deer tested, 9,738 were from northwest Minnesota, and the remaining 4,058 were from outside the zone as part of a statewide surveillance.

The Board of Animal Health has maintained some requirements for cattle and bison herds in the management zone, while the DNR will continue to manage deer populations and conduct surveillance of hunter-harvested wild deer in the area until testing indicates the disease has been eliminated in deer.

“The hard work and dedication of many people have brought us to this great day — reclaiming Minnesota’s statewide TB-Free status,” said Gov. Dayton, adding that bovine TB was eliminated in record time. “I want to thank the Board of Animal Health, the Minnesota State Cattlemen’s Association, the Minnesota Milk Producers Association, Minnesota Farm Bureau, Minnesota Farmers Union and everyone else who participated in this tremendous effort to protect Minnesota agriculture and make us TB-Free.”

The Goby and the Lamprey

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Standing along the Duluth harbor in view of the Duluth lift bridge last Thursday afternoon, I found myself doing something rather out-of-the ordinary – fishing.

Oh, fishing is nothing new to me – it was the location. I’d never before wet my line in one of the Great Lakes.

Later that evening I learned that trout, walleye and northern pike are among the usual catch in the freshwater lake, but I didn’t catch any of those.

Instead, I was fishing for Round Goby.

Round Goby caught at Duluth.

I’d never heard of Goby fish before and, frankly, after catching my first one, I wasn’t too keen on letting another one bite my hook. They’re kind of ugly.

Now, after writing that, I’m wondering just what fish is pretty. Certainly, it isn’t the carp and bullheads that seem to dominate our prairie lakes here in Nobles County.

Actually, blue gills and pumpkinseed are rather pretty, and I’m sure walleye are too – even prettier if I could actually catch one of them!

Anyway, back to the Goby.

The Goby is an invasive species in the Great Lakes, brought to our wonderful freshwater Lake Superior by ships dumping ballast water they carried inland from the saltwater oceans for several seasons. The Goby easily adapted to the freshwater lakes and now brings disdain to the fishermen – much like the carp do to us when we hook them here in southwest Minnesota.

My Goby catch.

At least the Goby are smaller – reaching only about eight inches in length. Certainly, they’re not big enough to bend a hook or snap a fishing line like those hideous carp!

I caught two Goby fish on Thursday – both of which could be considered bait because they were so small. (Note: It is illegal to use Goby as bait, according to the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources website.)

Also according to the DNR, Goby are aggressive, bottom-dwelling fish. As someone pointed out to me on Thursday, they have a scallop-shaped pelvic fin that can actually be used like a suction cup. (I was told they use the fin to climb rocks and work their way up a waterfall.)

So far, Goby have not been found in Minnesota’s inland waters, and the DNR is hoping it stays that way. In addition to the Great Lakes, they have been found in the Mississippi River basin. The Goby compete with native fish for food and habitat – and eat the eggs and young of native fish, their primary reason for not being liked by fishermen, I’m sure.

If you have a chance to get to Duluth this summer, I’d recommend making a stop at the Great Lakes Aquarium. In a few weeks, their new display featuring invasive species is targeted to open. In addition to seeing what a Goby looks like, you can also view the sea lamprey. We had a sneak peek at the lamprey on Thursday, and I can easily say I don’t ever want to catch one of them on my hook either – imagine an eel, or a thick snake that lives in the water. Yuck!

Chugga-chugga choo-choo

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Ready for our train ride.

Do you have a bucket list? Is there something you really want to do before you kick the bucket?

For me, I’d probably say that traveling to the Outer Banks to view the lighthouses would top my list. Other than that mega-trip of a lifetime, I really haven’t thought much about what I really want to do or see.

I started thinking about it, though, as I embarked on my first-ever train ride last night on the North Shore Scenic Railway. I suppose if I had actually compiled a bucket list, I might have included a train ride among the things I’d like to do. At any rate, I’ve now made a mental checkmark next to train ride.

The Depot in Duluth offers a variety of train rides throughout the week during the spring, summer and fall. While I wanted to take the train to Two Harbors, it didn’t fit into the schedule, so I settled for a pair of tickets on the Pizza Train – an early birthday present for my mom.

Mom had actually been on a train once before, about 65 years ago, when she made a round-trip from Minneapolis to Willmar – not far from her family’s Kandiyohi County farm.

Last night’s journey included some beautiful views of the Duluth harbor, but mostly we saw a lot of trees, a couple of creeks and rivers and even a swamp that was rather pretty in the haze of an all-day rain.

When we reached the end of the line (within view of the Lighthouse Café, not too far south of Two Harbors), we had an unusual delay. It seems an engine pulling a series of cars loaded with grain was having power issues, and it needed to be taken

Crossing a river.

somewhere for repairs.

We waited as the engine was unhooked from its load, and then steered down the tracks toward us. It hooked onto the engine that was pulling our train, and after a more than 30-minute delay, we were moving full steam ahead back toward Duluth.

I’m sure our return trip was supposed to be a slow-moving, sight-seeing adventure, but instead it was filled with the fast-moving excitement I imagined was experienced by train travelers back in the heyday of train transportation.

Inside the 1918 passenger car.

On our way northward along the North Shore, Mom and I sat in what I figured was a typical passenger train. On the way back, we ventured to the last car (it became the first car after the engines when we’d had our long break) and discovered it had much more character. The passenger car was built in 1918, we were told, and featured the old velvet benches. The walls and window frames were constructed of wood, and a small restroom was located on either end of the car.

The train ride was fun, the views were something I wouldn’t ordinarily get to see by driving, and the pizza was OK.

The 1918 passenger car … now that was cool!