The weather could be worse ~ March 7, 1996

David Heiller

With all the cold and snow we’ve had this winter, it’s nice to know that the weather can always be worse, and it HAS been worse.

I talked to Red Hansen of Askov a few weeks ago about what was the worst winter he could remember. He answered without hesitation that it was the winter of 1949-50. That winter is still listed in the Duluth newspaper as having the most snow ever, 131.6 inches. So far this year, Duluth has received 111.5 inches as of March 4.

So with another 20.1 inches, we could break that record, although I hope we don’t. (Editor’s note: We got 135.4 inches that year. The record was broken!)

Red made these remarks about the winter of 1949-50.

“That winter we had so much snow, it would take a week to get a road cleared, then you’d no sooner get it cleared off than it would fill back in again, and it would take another week before you could get a plow in there to clear a township road out.

“The snow was much deeper, and it moved with the wind. We lived north of town 2½ miles out in the old Stovring home [across from the Harald Stottrup and Harold Jensen farms]. To get to work I had to walk. I ended up walking on snowshoes cross country.”

QUESTION: “Was that uphill both ways, Red?” Sorry, I couldn’t resist. Tell on.

“Pretty near a month on snowshoes. Sleeping in the post office at night when we couldn’t get home. The last train was 6:30 in the evening, and we sorted mail until seven. And then get the backpack on and the snowshoes on and go cross country through the woods to get home. Get home about 8 o’clock. That was a little tough going. Ι would say I was in pretty good shape when spring came.

“Same thing in the morning, we had to be in here by 8 o’clock. We’d leave home by 6:30 with a backpack on, then down through the woods, through the pine trees. But what was worse was Hedda was sitting out there with the two kids. One night Becky got pneumonia. We ended up with the county plow at midnight, plowing out there with a doctor. That time I took the family out with the snowplow. Becky had about a 104 fever. So it was a rough winter.

“When they finally got the plow in there, it kept building up and building up and building up on the sides. We ended up walking on top of the high ridge of the piled up snow, in other words over the ditch. We walked on the telephone wires. They were under the snow, under our feet. You can figure out how high the snow was.

“There was a guy named Jorgensen that had a telephone. We had to help him in the spring. He had so much damage with the snow, poles down, wires down, we all pitched in and helped to get the line back out to our place. We walked down the road and pulled the wire backwards, peeling it out of the packed up snow and ice. Then they came out and put it up on poles again.”

“Winter was a little bit different. Now we have tall trees, a lot of woods. At that time there was small, short brush, and that snow would move for miles and miles and miles and pile up. The drifting was worse.

Red and Hedda.

“The last time we got plowed out, I started walking in the morning and I got to Highway 23, and here came Arild Frederiksen with his 2½ ton Army GMC with a V-plow in front. He could make maybe 15 feet, hit the snow real hard, and there he would stop. We met him out there, and we started shoveling this opening that a vee plow could get into to break the drift loose. Otherwise he would hit it and stop. I think we started shoveling about 7 o’clock out there on the highway, and there was eight of us by the time we got to my place, and that would be 2½ miles east. By evening, by 4 or 4:30, we had gotten that far, shoveling ahead of the plow.

“That worries you, when you’ve got family sitting out like that. I was lying in the post office [one night], couldn’t get home. Telephone rang around 11:30 at night. It was Hedda. She said the oil burner had gone out. So figured it was a carburetor that was dirty. So Ι told her how to shut the oil off the big tank, where to find my tools. I the telephone was right around the corner from the stove. I told her step by step; screw by screw, how to take that carburetor apart, lay it all out on the floor and clean it, then step by step I told her how to put it back in again screw by screw. Got the whole thing put together again, opened up the big valve on the tank, opened up the valve of the stove. Ι said, ‘Now throw a match in there.’ It took hold. Ι suppose it was 1:30 before she got back to bed again.

“Problems at that time you kind of took with grain of salt. We were used to them as kids. Βυt today, it’s a different story. It doesn’t take much to make people say, ‘O.K., shut the door and stay home.’ But we didn’t. We had to get to work.

“We’re softer. We’re used to better things. At that time, so it would snow, the car didn’t go, you walked. What are you going to do today? If the car doesn’t go, you’re not going to walk. Βut those days we walked. Pat the car on the hood when you walked by it and then walked to town.

“I used to crank on that old Model A, and it wouldn’t start. It stood outside of course. I’d crank on it until I couldn’t stand to crank anymore. Then I’d pull the crank out and hit it on the hood and throw the crank in the car an. start walking. But I had to get one lick in on old Model A.

Red had one vivid winter memory from when he was a kid living 1½ miles west of Askov with his folks, where he lives now.

“Many times, 11:00, 11:30 at night, mother dad and I would be out there shoveling so we could get to work in the morning. That was kind of nice. The moon would be shining, nice crisp night. You could hear the owls, and the shadows from the moonlight on the snow. We’d go there, and shovel for an hour, not a word being said side by side. Take your time, not rush It was a feeling of companionship. You’d get down the the highway finally, O.K., then you could get to` work in the morning. I’ve thought about that many times, the three of us out there shoveling.

“Yeah, times are a little different.”

Well said, Red.