Illinois, Winter of 1978

In the kitchen of the small farmhouse, above the sink was a window that looked back over the free standing garage, the large fuel oil tank and on beyond to the farm land behind. Seventy acres of prime Illinois farm land that had a small house on it when Carol's father had purchased it. Seventy acres that was now bare and covered with achingly white snow. When it was bright and clear you could see the stark stand of trees that lined the small brook that ran an eighth of a mile away and paralleled the lane that was at the front of the house. The kitchen window had small curtains with bright flowers that Carol had made. Outside the window, attached to the wooden frame was a sturdy mid-west thermometer that registered to fifty below zero. On this bright winters day the thermometer registered 35 below. The house was small and snug and warm, the furnace kicking on every few minutes.

Outside two dogs, one a border collie and the other a small black mass of matted curly hair chased each other around the back of the four acres the house sat on. If it was cold they didn't notice. Sometimes they would go into the garage and nestle into the bails of hay that had been placed there for their bedding. Many bails of hay made into a virtual cave. They were Lady and Tramp. Tramp being the border collie. They were outside dogs. If you'd picked one up to put on your lap they would have wondered if you'd lost your mind. Lady had come to us in the middle of a blizzard, whining and scratching on the back door. The victim of an unloving master that had driven purposely out into the country and dumped her as far from any towns or farms as was possible. It wouldn't be till spring when she was sheared of the matted coat that it would be discovered that Lady was really Laddie.

In the mornings the sunlight would reflect off the miles of flatland snow and drive into your eyes causing instant headache. Stepping out of the front door onto the small porch the storm door - known as a screen door in the summer - slammed back with a report that was very loud in the silence of the snow. There were no neighbors for at least a half mile and the nearest little burg was five miles away. Walking across the snow your steps made crunchy squeaking noises because the snow was so powdery dry. When you stopped walking and stood with your mouth wide open to eliminate the sound of your breathing you would hear nothing. Nothing. No birds or animals, no traffic, no nothing. It was a most freeing feeling. Sometimes though, after a heavy snowfall I would go out early and stand and listen and eventually I would hear what I was waiting for. The muffled sound of a tractor motor as Carol's Dad headed our way with the snow plow. It was Carol's and my first year of marriage. I had never felt more in love and more at peace than the snow filled days of the year we lived in the farmhouse.