March 19 on the Plains

Yesterday, it was 65 degrees in Omaha.

Today, this.

Tomorrow, the first day of spring. Don't trust a thing until the middle of May, though.

Such is life on the Great Plains.

Us in 1929

When I arrived in North Platte, Neb., during the last gasps of winter in 1983, something struck me about the place -- especially as a native of the Deep South.

There weren't any black people to speak of. I mean, the place was as white as the snow on the ground.

AS IT turns out, there were reasons for that. I'd wager that something close to being chief among those reasons would be what happened Saturday, July 13, 1929. ("Darkies"? A newspaper in Prescott, Ariz., thought it respectable to use the word "darkies" in a headline -- or anywhere else? Really?)

The North Platte incident was especially eerie in light of what happened here in Omaha a decade earlier, on Sept. 28, 1919.

DON'T THINK we're much more civilized these days, and don't think there aren't groups out there ready and willing to play with fire in these "interesting times."

Watch out where the huskies go. . . .

Have a houseful of dogs, especially those of the yappy variety? Has your locality just been smacked good by a blizzard?

Are the drifts in your back yard deep enough for Fido to disappear into, never to be seen again . . . at least until spring?

Well, Bucko, Revolution 21's Blog for the People and 3 Chords & the Truth have the helpful hints you needed yesterday.

Follow your host, the Mighty Favog, as he shows off the Wintertime Canine Superhighway of Bidness Doing. All you need to keep your furry friends happy, dry and . . . alive . . . is a snow shovel and the basic knowledge one can gain from listening to Frank Zappa's 1974 album Apostrophe(').

AND ALL you need to remember is "Don't Eat the Yellow Snow":

Dreamed I was an Eskimo
(Bop-bop ta-da-da bop-bop Ta-da-da)
Frozen wind began to blow
(Bop-bop ta-da-da bop-bop Ta-da-da)
Under my boots 'n around my toe
(Bop-bop ta-da-da bop-bop Ta-da-da)
Frost had bit the ground below
(Boop-boop aiee-ay-ah!)
Was a hundred degrees below zero
(Booh!)
(Bop-bop ta-da-da bop-bop Ta-da-da)
And my momma cried:
Boo-a-hoo hoo-ooo
And my momma cried:
Nanook-a, no no (no no . . . )
Nanook-a, no no (no no . . . )
Don't be a naughty Eskimo-wo-oh
(Bop-bop ta-da-da bop-bop Ta-da-da)
Save your money: don't go to the show
Well I turned around an' I said:
HO HO
(Booh!)
Well I turned around an' I said:
HO HO
(Booh!)
Well I turned around an' I said:
HO HO
An' the Northern Lites commenced t' glow
An' she said
(Bop-bop ta-da-da bop . . . )
With a tear in her eye:
WATCH OUT WHERE THE HUSKIES GO
AN' DON'T YOU EAT THAT YELLOW SNOW
WATCH OUT WHERE THE HUSKIES GO
AN' DON'T YOU EAT THAT YELLOW SNOW

WELL, THAT'S ALL your fearless leader has for you right now, my children. So, until next time, this is Mighty (Nanook) Favog signing off.

The pioneers were no wimps

Some think heat vents are to keep your house warm.

That may be the case, but on blizzardy days like this, heat vents have a higher calling. Heat vents are where you dry your wet shoes after a couple of hours shoveling the walk, the driveway and (just to make sure you can get out in the morning) the street in front of your house.

And above the heat vent is where you hang your wet socks and thaw your ice-covered wool cap. At right is how I've been doing it lately.

These are the tricks of the Midwestern trade when winter blows across the Great Plains. As I write this, the wind is roaring outside the studio window.

Snow is coming down at the same time the wind is blowing it up from Omaha's newly minted urban tundra. Not a creature is stirring this snow-packed and windblown predawn -- at least no sane creature -- and the cable and Internet has been off and on.

(Note to self: Finish this post while the Internet is still on.)

CHANNEL 7 says it's 10 degrees out, with a wind chill of minus-11. That would be the high temperature this Wednesday; it's all downhill from here . . . all the way to 9 below zero about 24 hours from now.

Hello, December. Glad you could make it in time for Christmas.

Below is how things looked by the time I finished the second round of shoveling Tuesday evening. It's the look of snow coming down at a decent clip.


THIS was before the blizzard began in earnest.

At left is the view out the front door after the blizzard began in earnest.

This may go on for a while, according to the weatherman. Probably until noon, maybe longer.

Below is what you see when you open the front door enough to stick the camera outside -- getting it, and you, good and wet. Our car is parked in front of the house.

Perhaps you can make it out.

On a night like this -- when you have a driveway that slopes down from the street -- you don't try to get up the drive in the morning. Not when the snow has been falling, and drifting, all night.




IT'S DECEMBER in Nebraska, y'all.

The pioneers were no wimps. And, come to think of it, neither are we.

Bring it on.

Oh, the weather outside. . . .

On the street where I live, the sounds that echo across the frigid Omaha snowscape are the roar of the snow blower and the scrape of the snow shovel.

The snow, it falls silently.

The schools are closed, and even the malls will lock their doors and extinguish the lights of Christmas commerce in about an hour. The snow's falling harder than ever, the blizzard part is yet to come, and my city is shutting -- and hunkering -- down.

By nightfall, on the street where I live -- on the streets where millions of Midwesterners live -- the only sound to be heard will be that of the roaring wind. That, and snow blasting against the windows of the houses where we live.

Everything's canceled, and only the foolish will venture out. Well, the foolish and the cops. But at least the cops are getting paid to fight the losing battle with a December blizzard.

I FINISHED Round 1 of the day's shoveling a few hours ago. My coat and shoes probably have dried by now -- my Nebraska Cornhuskers wool cap, too -- my gut is full of hot dark-roast coffee, and it's about time for me to do battle with about four fresh inches of snow.

If I'm lucky, I'll get the walks and driveway cleared before the wind comes howling across the Plains, blowing the snow that's falling and the snow that already has fallen.

Out here in the great Midwest, all God's creatures are trying to beat out the December gusts. I'm trying to get the snow cleared before it all starts to drift, and the squirrels, sparrows, cardinals and blue jays are trying to fill their stomachs before digging in for the evening.

I think I'll have another cup of coffee and a bite to eat before rejoining the battle. Because it's December in Omaha and, truth be told, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Twistering the night away

Here we go again.

We're due, sometime soon here, for a second-straight evening of Weather From Hell. Welcome to late spring on the Great Plains.

LAST NIGHT, much of Nebraska and Iowa got to pick what was behind one of three curtains -- tornadoes, giant hail or flash flooding. Some contestants got the tornadoes, which -- in some cases -- means you have to give up everything else you've won. Ever.

Others took the giant hail, while many of the remainder ended up with le deluge. A few lucky contestants -- lucky, that is, if you're a masochist -- picked one curtain, then got the other two as parting gifts from a cosmic Monty Hall.

Now, we get to be on this prime-time game show again. Here's the recap, and the pregame preview, from this afternoon's Omaha World-Herald:

More severe weather and a serious threat of flooding were expected this afternoon and tonight in southeast Nebraska and western Iowa.

Wednesday night, the region was hit with a little bit of everything - heavy rain, hail, wind and, possibly, tornadoes.

Reports of tornadoes came in from the cities of Ceresco, Ulysses and Surprise in Nebraska and from near Glenwood, Red Oak and Malvern in Iowa, said Terry Landsvork, observation program leader at the National Weather Service office in Valley.

Landsvork said Plattsmouth, Neb., and Red Oak, Iowa, each had about 5½ inches of rain.

"They are building an ark in Plattsmouth," he said.

Murray, Neb., and Lincoln both reported hail measuring 1.75 inches in diameter. Reports of 1-inch hail came in from around the Omaha metropolitan area, Landsvork said.

A line of storms packing high winds and some suspected tornadoes ravaged Ceresco, about 15 miles north of Lincoln, about 8:30 p.m. The storm knocked out power, downed trees, blew out windows and blew off part of the roof of the town's only tavern, the Barn Door.

Storm debris was scattered across U.S. Highway 77, the location of the tavern and the Mills Squeegee convenience store. A satellite dish and some cinderblocks were blown off the store's roof.

Just west of town, the metal panels of a farm building were strewn around power poles and across a field. Damage to farm buildings also was reported farther west near Ulysses, Dwight and Valparaiso.

Eugene and Betty Tvrdy lost their century-old wooden barn and a machine shed near their farmhouse west of Ceresco.

One of the couple's goats died during the storm when the barn collapsed, trapping the animals. Nine other goats made it out of the rubble safely, Betty Tvrdy said today.

Two of the couple's missing horses were located this morning on the edge of the farmstead. Both horses appeared unharmed.

The goats and horses are staying with a neighbor today while the Tvrdys survey their damage and meet with insurance adjusters.

(snip)

Tornadoes also were reported in Nebraska near Champion, Maywood, Bertrand, Smithfield, Elwood, Kearney and Wauneta. Nearly a half-dozen funnel clouds were spotted in southwest Iowa.

An acreage about two miles south of Emerson, Iowa, home to a family of four, was wrecked by a tornado. Siding and part of the roof were torn from the house, and windows were broken. Trees were down, and limbs and branches were strewn about.

As the storm moved east in Iowa, it damaged another home and then headed into Montgomery and Union Counties.

Larry Hurst, Mills County emergency management director, said the Emerson family was not injured. "A little shaken, but they were able to get safe shelter."

Two barns and a machine shed also were destroyed on the acreage, said Josh Bowen, a friend of the family.

The tornado was among four or five funnel clouds spotted in Mills County on Wednesday evening. No injuries were reported.

MOST PLACES, springtime is seen as the season of rebirth . . . the season of pleasant weather and the warm up to a summer of fun. And that it is.

But out here on the Plains, springtime also is the season of capricious and violent weather. The season during which you just might get unlucky, with everything you have at 5:15 one hot, humid and blustery afternoon gone with the wind by 5:17.

And you consider yourself blessed because you're alive, and your loved ones are alive. Not all are so lucky, as we have seen across the mid-South and Midwest over and over again this spring. Already.

It gives you something to think about this time of year. And it sends a dry-ice chill right down your spine when the tornado sirens sound and, if you're smart, you grab your pets and your loved ones and dash for the basement.

Omaha has been lucky. We haven't seen The Big One in 33 years. But that last Big One -- an EF-4 (out of 5) -- opened a gash that split the city in half and killed three.

Miraculously, only three.

EVEN TODAY, the 1975 Omaha tornado ranks as the second most costly in American history, having wreaked more than a billion dollars' havoc -- 1.1 billion 1975 dollars.

It's going to be another long night tonight. Hope the garden makes it through again.