Hello and welcome back my Drift Off friends. I'm your host Joanne and I'm so glad you're here with me tonight. In this episode, we're continuing the Long Winter by Laura Ingalls Wilder. and I'll be reading the next chapter or two, depending on how the evening unfolds. Before we begin, just a gentle reminder that your membership allows me to keep this space ad-free and free from distractions, something that really matters when you're settling in for sleep. Thank you so much for being here and for supporting the show. now let's take a moment to settle in together wherever you're listening allow your body to soften into its resting place there's nothing you need to do know where you need to go Begin by noticing your breath, slow, steady, and unforced. With each exhale, imagine the day gently losing its grip, your body softening more and more. picture a quiet winter evening snow drifting softly outside the world hushed and still the kind of silence that feels steady and comforting perhaps you're indoors warm and safe a gentle lamplight glowing nearby the cold kept at a peaceful distance beyond the window with each breath out let your shoulders relax your Your jaw soften. Your thoughts slow, like snowflakes settling to the ground. You don't need to follow every word tonight. You can simply let the story unfold in the background, allowing the sound of my voice to keep you company as you rest. And whenever you're ready, let's begin. 10. Three Days Blizzard When Laura's eyes opened in the morning, she saw that every clenched nail in the roof overhead was furry white with frost. Thick frost covered every window pane to its very top. The daylight was still and dim inside the stout walls that kept out the howling blizzard. Carrie was awake too She peeked anxiously at Laura from under the quilts on the bed by the stovepipe where she and Grace slept She blew out a breath to see how cold it was Even close to the stovepipe, her breath froze white in the air But that house was so well built that not a bit of snow had been driven through the walls or the roof Laura was stiff and sore and so was Carrie but morning had come and they must get up sliding out of bed into the cold that took her breath away Laura snatched up her dress and shoes and hurried to the top of the stairs Ma, can we dress down there? she called thankful for the warm, long red flannels under her flannel nightgown. Yes, pause at the stable, Ma answered. The cook stove was warming the kitchen, and the lamplight made it seem even warmer. Laura put on her petticoats and dress and shoes. Then she brought down her sister's clothes and warmed them, and carried Grace downstairs wrapped in quilts. They were all dressed and washed when Pa came in with the milk half frozen in the pail. After he had got his breath and melted the frost and snow from his mustache, he said, Well, the hard winter's begun. Why, Charles, Ma said, it isn't like you to worry about winter weather. I'm not worrying, Pa replied, but it's going to be a hard winter. Well, if it is, said Ma, here we are in town, where we can get what we need from the stores even in a storm. There would be no school till the blizzard was over. So, after the housework was done, Laura and Carrie and Mary studied their lessons and then settled down to sew while Ma read to them. Once, she looked up and listened and said, It sounds like a regular three days blizzard Then there won't be any more school this week, said Laura She wondered what Mary and Minnie were doing The front room was so warm that the frost on the windows had melted a little and turned to ice When she breathed on it to clear a peephole she could see against the glass the blank white swirling snow She could not even see Fuller's hardware store across the street where Pa had gone to sit by the stove and talk with the other men. Up the street, past Cowes' hardware store and the Beardsley Hotel and Barker's grocery, Royal Wilder's feed store was dark and cold. No one would come to buy feed in that storm, so Royal did not keep up the fire in the heater. but the back room where he and Almanzo were batching was warm and cozy and Almanzo was frying pancakes. Royal had to agree that not even mother could beat Almanzo at making pancakes. Back in York State when they were boys and later on Father's Big Farm in Minnesota they had never thought of cooking. That was women's work. But since they had come west to take up homestead claims, they had to cook or starve, and Almanzo had to do the cooking, because he was handy at almost anything, and also because he was younger than Royal who still thought that he was the boss When he came west Almanzo was 19 years old but that was a secret because he had taken a homestead claim and according to law, a man must be 21 years old to do that. Almanzo did not consider that he was breaking the law, and he knew he was not cheating the government. Still, anyone who knew that he was 19 years old could take his claim away from him. Almanzo looked at it this way. The government wanted this land settled. Uncle Sam would give a farm to any man who had the nerve and muscle to come out here and break the sod and stick to the job till it was done. But the politicians far away in Washington could not know the settlers, so they must make rules to regulate them. And one rule was that a homesteader must be 21 years old. None of the rules worked as they were intended to. Almanzo knew that men were making good wages by filing claims that fitted all the legal rules and then handing over the land to the rich men who paid their wages. Everywhere, men were stealing the land and doing it according to all the rules. But of all the homestead laws, Almanzo thought that the most foolish was the law about a settler's age. Anybody knew that no two men were alike. You could measure cloth with a yardstick or distance by miles, but you could not lump men together and measure them by any rule. Brains and character did not depend on anything but the man himself. Some men did not have the sense at 60 that some had at 16, and Almanzo considered that he was as good any day as any man 21 years old. Almanzo's father thought so too. A man had the right to keep his sons at work for him until they were 21 years old. But Almanzo's father had put his boys to work early and trained them well. Almanzo had learned to save money before he was 10 and he had been doing a man's work on the farm since he was 9 When he was 17 his father had judged that he was a man and had given him his own free time Almanzo had worked for 50 cents a day and saved money to buy seed and tools He had raised wheat on shares in western Minnesota and made a good crop he considered that he was as good a settler as the government could want and that his age had nothing to do with it so he had said to the land agent you can put me down as 21 and the agent had winked at him and done it Almanzo had his own homestead claim now and the seed wheat for next year that he had brought from Minnesota and if he could stick it out on these prairies and raise crops for four years more, he would have his own farm. He was making pancakes, not because Royal could boss him anymore, but because Royal could not make good pancakes, and Almanzo loved light, fluffy, buckwheat pancakes with plenty of molasses. Phew, listen to that, Royal said. They had never heard anything like that lizard. That old Indian knew what he was talking about, said Almanzo. If we're in for seven months of this? The three pancakes on the griddle were holding their bubbles in tiny holes near their crisping edges. He flipped them over neatly and watched their brown patterned sides rise in the middle. The good smell of them mixed with the good smells of fried salt pork and boiling coffee. The room was warm, and the lamp with its tin reflector hung on a nail, lighted it strongly. Saddles and bits of harness hung on the rough board walls. The bed was in one corner, and the table was drawn up to the stove hearth so that Almanzo could put the pancakes on the white ironstone plates without moving one step. This can't last seven months. That's ridiculous, said Royal. We're bound to have some spells of good weather. Almanzo replied airily, Anything can happen, and most usually does. He slid his knife under the edges of the pancakes. They were done, and he flipped them onto Royal's plate and greased the griddle again with the pork rind. Royal poured molasses over the cakes. One thing can't happen, he said. we can't stick it out here till spring unless they keep the trains running. Almanzo poured three or more rounds of batter from the batter pitcher onto the sizzling griddle. He lounged against the warm partition by the stovepipe, waiting for the cakes to rise. We figured on hauling in more hay, he said. We've got plenty of dry feed for the team. Oh, they'll get the trains through, Royal said, eating. But if they didn't, we'd be up against it. How about coal and kerosene, and flour and sugar? For that matter, how long would my stock of feed last if the whole town came piling in here to buy it? Almanzo straightened up. Say, he exclaimed, nobody's going to get my seed wheat, no matter what happens. Nothing's going to happen, Royal said. Whoever heard of storms lasting seven months? They'll get the trains running again. They better, said Almanzo, turning the pancakes. He thought of the old Indian, and he looked at his sacks of seed wheat. They were stacked along the end of the room, and some were under the bed. The seed wheat did not belong to Royal. It belonged to him. He had raised it in Minnesota. He had plowed the ground and sowed the grain. He had cut it and bound it, threshed and sacked it, and hauled it a hundred miles in his wagon. If storms like this storm delayed the trains, so that no more seed came from the east until after sowing time, his crop for next year, his homestead would depend on his having that seed wheat to sow. He would not sell it for any money. It was seed that made crops. You could not sell silver dollars. I'm not going to sell so much as a peck of my seed wheat, he said. All right, all right. Nobody's bothering your wheat, Royal answered. How about some pancakes? This makes 21, Almanzo said, putting them on Royal's plate. How many did you eat while I was doing the chores? Royal asked him. I didn't count them, Almanzo grinned. But gosh, I'm working up an appetite feeding you. So long as we keep on eating, we don't have to wash the dishes, said Royal. Chapter 11. Pa Goes to Volga at noon on Tuesday the blizzard ended then the wind died down and in the clear sky the sun shone brightly well that over Pa said cheerfully now maybe we have a spell of good weather ma sighed comfortably It good to see the sun again And to hear the stillness Mary added They could hear again the small sounds of the town. Now and then a store door slammed. Ben and Arthur went by, talking, and Cap Garland came whistling down 2nd Street. The only usual sound they did not hear was the train's whistle. At supper, Pa said that the train was stopped by the snow-filled Big Cut near Tracy, but they'll shovel through it in a couple of days, he said. In weather like this, who cares about trains? Early next morning, he went across the street to Fuller's store, hurrying back. He told Ma that some of the men were going to take the hand car from the depot and go meet the train at Volga, clearing the track as they went. Mr. Foster had agreed to do Pa's chores if Pa went along. I've been in one place so long. I would like to travel a little, Pa said. Go along, Charles, you might as well, Ma agreed. But can you clear the track so far in one day? We think so, said Pa. The cuts are small from here to Volga, and it's only about 50 miles. The worst stretch is east of Volga, and the train crews are working at that. If we clear the rest of the way for them, we ought to come back with the regular train day after tomorrow. He was putting on an extra pair of woolen socks while he talked. He wound the wide muffler around his neck, crossed it on his chest, and buttoned his overcoat snugly over it. He fastened his earmuffs, put on his warmest mitts, and then with his shovel on his shoulder, he went to the depot. It was almost school time, but instead of hurrying to school, Laura and Carrie stood in 2nd Street, watching Pa set out on his trip. The hand car was standing on the track by the depot, and men were climbing onto it as Pa came up. All ready, Ingalls. All aboard, they called. The north wind blowing over the dazzling snow brought every word to Laura and Carrie. Pa was on the car in a moment. Let's go, boys. He gave the word as he gripped a hand bar. Mr. Fuller and Mr. Mead and Mr. Hintz took their places in a row, facing Pa and Mr. Wilmarth and Royal Wilder. All their mittened hands were on the two long wooden handlebars that crossed the handcar with the pump between them. All ready, boys, let her go, Gallagher, Mr. Fuller sang out, and he and Mr. Mead and Mr. Hintz bent low, pushing down their handlebar. Then as their heads and their handlebar came up, Pa and the other two bent down, pushing the handlebar. Down and up, down and up, the rows of men bent and straightened as if they were bowing low to each other in turn, and the hand-car's wheels began slowly to turn, and then to roll rapidly along the track toward Volga. And as they pumped, Pa began to sing, and all the others joined in. Up and down, up and down, all the backs moved evenly with the song and smoothly rolled the wheels faster and faster. Bump, and the hand car was stuck fast in a snowbank. All off, Mr. Fuller sang out, not this time, we don't roll it over. Picking up their shovels, all the men stepped down from the hand car. Bright snow dust flew in the wind from chunks of snow flung away by their busy shovels. We ought to be getting to school, Laura said to Carrie. Oh please, let's wait just a minute more and see, Carrie said, gazing with skinting eyes across the glittering snow at Pa, hard at work in front of the hand car. In a moment or two, all the men stepped onto it again, and lay down their shovels and bending to the handlebars. Smaller and smaller grew the dark handcar and the two rows of men bowing in turn to each other and fainter and fainter the song came back over the glittering snow fields. Singing and pumping, rolling the car along, shoveling its way through the snowbanks and cuts, Pa went away to Volga. All the rest of the day, and all the next day, there was an emptiness in the house. Morning and evening, Mr. Foster did the chores, and after he had left the stable, Ma sent Laura to make sure that he had done them properly. Surely Pa will be home tomorrow, Ma said on Thursday night. At noon the next day, the long, clear train whistle sounded over the snow-covered prairie, and from the kitchen window, Laura and Carrie saw the black smoke billowing on the sky and the roaring train coming beneath it. It was the work train, crowded with singing, cheering men. Help me get the dinner on, Laura, Ma said. Pa will be hungry. Laura was taking up the biscuits when the front door opened and Pa called. Look, Caroline. See who's come home with me? Grace stopped her headlong rush toward Pa and backed, staring, her fingers in her mouth. Ma put her gently aside as she stepped to the doorway with the dish of mashed potatoes in her hand. Why, Mr. Edwards, Ma said. I told you we'd see him again after he saved our homestead for us, said Pa. Ma set the potatoes on the table. I have wanted so much to thank you for helping Mr. Ingalls file on his claim, she said to Mr. Edwards. Laura would have known him anywhere. He was the same tall, lean, lounging wildcat from Tennessee. The laughing lines in his leather-brown face were deeper. A knife scar was on his cheek that had not been there before, but his eyes were as laughing and lazy and keen as she remembered them. Oh, Mr. Edwards, she cried out. You brought our presents from Santa Claus, Mary remembered. You swam the creek, Laura said, and you went away down the Verdigree River. Mr. Edwards scraped his foot on the floor and bowed low. Mrs. Ingalls and girls, I surely am glad to see you all again. He looked into Mary's eyes that did not see him, and his voice was gentle when he said, Are these two handsome young ladies your small little girls that I dandled on my knee, Ingalls, down on the verdigris? Mary and Laura said they were, and that Carrie had been the baby then. Grace is our baby now, Ma said, but Grace would not go to meet Mr. Edwards. She would only stare at him and hang on to Ma's skirts. You're just in time, Mr. Edwards, Ma said hospitably. I have dinner on the table in one minute and Pa urged Sit right up Edwards and don be bashful There plenty of it such as it is Mr. Edwards admired the well-built, pleasant house, and heartily enjoyed the good dinner. But he said he was going on west with the train while it pulled out. Pa could not persuade him to stay longer. I'm aiming to go far west in the spring, he said. This here country, it's too settled up for me. The politicians are swarming in already. And ma'am, if there's any worse pests than grasshoppers, it surely is politicians. Why, they'll tax the lining out of a man's pockets to keep up these here county seat towns. I don't see nary use for a county. We all got along happy and content without him. Feller come along and taxed me last summer. Told me I gotta put in every last least thing I had. So I put in Tom and Jerry, my horses, at $50 apiece, and my oxen yoke, buck and bright, I put in at $50, and my cow at $35. Is that all you got, he says? Well, I told him, I'd put in five children I reckoned was worth a dollar apiece. Is that all, he says. How about your wife, he says. By mighty, I says to him She says I don't own her and I don't aim to pay no taxes on her, I says and I didn't Why, Mr. Edwards It is news to us that you have a family, said Ma Mr. Ingalls said nothing of it I didn't know it myself, Pa explained Anyway, Edwards you don't have to pay taxes on your wife and children He wanted a big tax list, said Mr. Edwards Politicians, they take pleasure of prying into a man's affairs, and I aimed to please them. It makes no matter. I don't aim to pay taxes. I sold the relinquishment on my claim, and in the spring, when the collector comes round, I'll be gone from there. Got no children and no wife know-how. Before Ma or Pa could speak, the train whistle blew loud and long. There's the call, said Mr. Edwards, and got up from the table. Change your mind and stay a while, Edwards, Pa urged him. You always brought us luck. But Mr. Edwards shook hands all around, and last with Mary, who sat beside him. Goodbye all, he said, and going quickly out of the door, he ran toward the depot. Grace had looked and listened wide-eyed all the time without trying to say a word. Now that Mr. Edwards had vanished so suddenly, she took a deep breath and asked, Mary, was that the man who saw Santa Claus? Yes, Mary said, that was the man who walked to Independence, 40 miles in the rain, and saw Santa Claus there, and brought back the Christmas presents for Laura and me when we were little girls. He has a heart of gold, said Ma. He brought us each a tin cup and a stick of candy, Laura remembered. She got up slowly and began to help Ma and Carrie clear the table. Pa went to his big chair by the stove. Mary lifted her handkerchief from her lap as she started to leave the table and something fluttered to the floor. Ma stooped to pick it up. She stood holding it, speechless, and Laura cried, Mary, a twenty dollar. You dropped a twenty dollar bill. I couldn't, Mary exclaimed. That, Edward, said Ma. We can't keep it, Ma said. But clear and long came the last farewell whistle of the train. What will you do with it, Pa asked Edwards is gone and we likely won't see him again for years if ever But Charles, why did he do it? Ma softly cried out in distress He gave it to Mary, said Pa Let Mary keep it, it will help her go to college Ma thought for a moment then said Very well, and she gave the bill to Mary Mary held it carefully touching it with her fingertips and her face shone Oh, I do thank Mr. Edwards I hope he never has need of it himself wherever he goes, said Ma Trust Edwards to look after himself, Pa assured Mary's face was dreamy with the look it had when she was thinking of college for the blind Ma, she said With the money you made keeping borders last year, this makes $35.25. Sweet dreams, my friend. Sleep well. Amen. Thank you. Thank you. Amen. Thank you. Thank you.
