On a Cold Winter Night

We built a fire of a size we thought was safe under the circumstances and were prepared to try to keep warm until either the fire died out or help came. But as time went on we soon came to the conclusion that the waiting game could very well be death of both of us.

I was 16 years old when my father had his first heart attack. My mother had had one a year or so earlier and from those early days in their lives we learned to live with the possibility that they, either of them, could die of heart disease at any time. People in those days just dropped dead of heart attacks. There was no such thing as heart transplants or bypass surgery. Drugs were rudimentary at best and were the only treatment option available. Preventive medicine and practice were unheard of. People who had heart attacks were likely to just drop dead.

I could not understand my father’s condition until I experienced the same symptoms and the same problems. Heart attacks, in their basic forms, are caused by arteries in and to the heart becoming clogged, thus depriving blood flow to the heart which causes deprivation of oxygen to that all-important muscle. This was what my father experienced. He took high blood pressure medicine and until I experienced my own problems I did not know that blood pressure contributed to the blockage of arteries and the reduction of blood flow and oxygen to the heart. My mother’s problems were more easily understood. She had several blood clots pass through her heart. There was no mystery there. I could always understand how hers was caused, I just had trouble comprehending how something as soft and pliable as a blood clot could do so much damage in a human heart. I always thought hers was the most damaging and that she would probably be the first to die. She was not. After her first attack at age 42 she took care of herself, endured other spells, and died at the age of 90. She was active and alert her entire life. My father, on the other hand, grew weaker and weaker, had other attacks and died at the age of 59. I both lament and rejoice in the fact that I never saw him become an old man.

As he was recuperating from his second or third heart attack, he became my responsibility. We were a farm family and that work must go on regardless of one’s health issues. That is probably why so many people just dropped dead following a heart attack. One of the most important things a person can do is rest when tired and avoid stress. Stress really is a killer. Even today I can go through the cemetery where my parents are laid to rest and read the tombstones to verify this. From grave site to grave site I can go and see the date of death of people I knew. Invariably, I find that a man died and thirty years later his wife died. I can go to the next and see that another man died and his wife died thirty years later. I end up at my parents’ grave and note that he died and she died thirty years later.

Farming is hard work and one works at the mercy of the elements. It doesn’t matter that it’s hot or cold. It doesn’t matter that it’s raining or hailing or snowing. It doesn’t matter that the clouds have disappeared and the earth has dried up. The work has to continue. Farming is stressful and demanding. It doesn’t matter that the man has had a heart attack. Crops still must be planted and harvested. Livestock still must be cared for. Physically demanding work, it still must be performed whether the farmer is able or not.

He became my responsibility. I was the only boy remaining at home at the time and I had the chore of being with him wherever he went. If something had to be lifted I had to hurry ahead of him and lift it because if I was not there he would try to do it himself. If some animal had to be chased or corralled or manhandled I had to do it because if I was not there he would try to do it himself. If we went to feed cattle I had to grab a bale of hay and run with it to place it out for the cattle. Then I would run back to take the next bale out of his hands to keep him from lifting more weight than he should. It was working me to death but my job right then was to take as much burden and stress off him as I could.

We had gone to feed cattle late in the day on a very cold winter day, just about sundown. We parked the old truck and I went through the ritual of feeding at high speed in order to keep him from doing so much of the work. I couldn’t keep him from doing everything but I had to try to minimize things as much as I could. We were cold and I knew this too was not good for him. Cold weather can place damaging physical stress on a heart patient. We needed to get the cattle fed and get back to the house to brace ourselves for the Northerly blizzard which was forecast and expected and was in fact hitting before we ever got to the pasture. We got the cattle fed and had to break the ice in the stock tank so they could get a drink of water. We would have to come break the ice the next morning but they could eat and drink and this would help them survive the cold. We got back into the truck and it wouldn’t start.

Normally, this would not be so disconcerting. He was an excellent shade tree mechanic and whatever the problem was he could probably find it and repair it in short order. But it was dark and the weather did not allow for the working on a truck out in the open air. We decided to make ourselves as comfortable as possible and wait for my mother to come check on us. The only problem was that we hadn’t told her we were leaving and where we were going when we left the house.

The weather was getting worse. The front hit and hit hard. We were experiencing winds of about 40 to 50 miles per hour, blowing snow, rain and sleet all at the same time. The wind was coming from the north and it was proving to be every bit as bad a storm as we had expected. The precipitation increased and continued in all its forms. It was the kind of night that could kill livestock and this is why we had come to take care of them. And it was the kind of night that could kill a man and his son if they didn’t get some help.

There was the remnant of an old house standing there near the cattle lot. It was only one or two walls and they about to fall down. We were able to get in a wind break behind one of the walls and build a small fire to help keep us alive. It couldn’t be a large fire as there was too much danger of its getting out of hand in the high winds. We stood there next to the fire trying with little success to stay warm and I could tell that he was getting more and more agitated. The stress was beginning to show itself in physical manifestations and I knew there was some danger that he could suffer another heart attack at any time. And this one would likely be fatal.

He had on coveralls, overshoes, a coat, gloves and some kind of cap with ear flaps. I had on jeans, some light shoes, a coat (not all that heavy), gloves and a stocking cap.

It continued to get colder, the wind did not let up and the rain, snow and sleet kept falling. It seemed to be falling horizontally, the wind was so hard. It was beginning to build up on the roads and everywhere else. If we didn’t get out of there soon it was very possible that help wouldn’t be able to reach us.

We had been there exposed to the elements for well over an hour and his mental and physical condition were deteriorating as quickly as the weather. I had offered to walk for help when the truck had first failed us but he had said it was too dangerous to be walking in that weather. And, he had reasoned, we would build a fire and wait, “Mom’ll come look for us when she misses us.” But the fallacy of that was that she had no reason to miss us or any idea where to start looking. For all she knew we had run into town to get something and could as easily have been visiting with someone. There were dozens of places we could have legitimately been.

I had offered to go for help again and again and each time he had stressed the danger of such a trek. After a couple of hours I had offered again and he now agreed to it. I knew how bad off we were when he agreed to my walking for help in that kind of weather.

I rummaged for some gunny sacks in the truck and wrapped these around my head and shoulders. I wrapped others around my hands knowing how important it was to keep my extremities from freezing. The weather was well below freezing and the wind chill factor had to be down in the teens. “Once you start,” he said, “you have to keep going. People can die in this kind of weather.” I acknowledged that all would be alright. There was no way to get lost. I couldn’t get off the roadway. All I had to walk was half a mile to the west and then two miles to the north. Those two miles walking into the blowing wind, into the snow, sleet and rain, was what I was most concerned with. I was glad it was snowing as much as it was. Had it been raining more than snowing I would be drenched and the likelihood of survival would be much less.

I told him I would be fine. And right at that time I was not all that concerned about myself. I looked at him, his stress, his chest pains, his irrational behavior, and wondered if we hadn’t waited too long to set out for help.

“Stop at Mr. and Mrs. House’s place. They may be able to take you on home,” he said. I told him I would. Mr. and Mrs. House were an elderly couple who lived on a farm along the way. They were only a mile from where I was starting from. A half mile west and a half mile north sounded a lot more manageable.

Wrapped as well as I could be in gunny sacks, I left him standing by the fire. He looked desperate, like a sick and stressed out old man there in the light of the fire. Fifty feet away and I couldn’t see him or the fire anymore.

Engulfed in darkness, there was no moonlight or starlight. It was total darkness, just a hint of light reflecting off the accumulated snow so that I could see either side of the roadway. The wind was overpowering and it was cold. My feet were the first to get cold. The shoes I was wearing were not any good for this weather. They were wet and cold and I knew I was in some danger of frostbite. The snow was building up, making walking difficult. Mud and snow and ice were building up on the bottoms of my feet, making it difficult to keep going forward. The only good thing was that there was something of a windbreak to my immediate North as there was an overgrown fence row. It didn’t stop the wind completely but I would soon discover just how much of a difference it had made.

In normal conditions, warm but not hot and no precipitation, I could have walked home in an hour or so. But these were not normal conditions. It took about an hour to make that first half mile and then I was going to have two more miles walking directly into the storm. I estimated it would take me four or five hours to make it home. And I wasn’t looking forward to that much time in this weather.

I finished the first half mile and turned North. Unprepared for the shock of the storm, the wind and the precipitation, I just about lost my breath when I made that turn in the road. I had no idea I could get colder than I already was. I had no idea my feet could hurt any more than they already did from the cold. All I could do was duck my head and walk on into the storm. There was no turning back now and there was no stopping. I just prayed that the House family could give me a ride because the likelihood of walking all the home seemed unlikely.

About all a person can do is refuse to think about the condition in which you find yourself and keep putting one foot in front of the other. There’s no warmth to be had. One foot in front of the other. You don’t know if the fire is still going back at the pasture. You don’t know if your father’s heart has held out, making one last stand in strained and straining circumstances. One foot in front of the other. The good things about the situation was that the fields and pastures were fenced and overgrown so that it was impossible to get lost in this weather. And in those days, unlike today, there were no wild animals that posed serious threats to a lone human walking through a cold, lonely night. One foot in front of another.

It took a little longer to walk the second half mile. When I could make out the House place it was a welcomed sight. Everything was hurting, especially my feet. They never went anywhere so I knew they would be home. It probably frightened them when they heard a knock on their door. There hadn’t been any car or truck drive up, just a knock on their door. Slowly they opened the door and looked out. I said “hello” and told them who I was. They took me in, sat me at the kitchen table and gave me something hot to drink.

In the warmth of their kitchen I told them my predicament and asked if they could drive me back to get my father. They were an elderly couple living alone there in the middle of nowhere. Less than 20 years removed from when they farmed with horses, they didn’t have very good equipment. Their old car was not all that dependable. They showed genuine sadness when they told me their car wouldn’t start. Their old tractor hadn’t been running in quite awhile and probably wouldn’t start again until next Spring. There was nothing they could do but offer me shelter and warmth for a little while.

I stood and told them I had to be going on. I had to get home and get some help. Apologizing for not being able to do more, they wished me well. I thanked them for all they had done and set out into the storm again.

Another half mile brought me to the corner of our home place. Each half mile was taking a little longer. And the cold was taking its toll. I was tired and hurting but determined to get home for help. I really didn’t doubt my ability to get home, probably because I didn’t have sense enough at the time to fully understand the danger I was in. Home was still another mile away and there was no one else living between me and home. One foot in front of another. I may not have fully understood the danger I was in but I did know the danger my father was in and that kept me moving. One foot in front of another.

I would walk past our old home place, an old farm house now abandoned. There was still electricity and gas there. I could get warm but that was all. There were no vehicles there to help me. So I decided not to stop. I needed to get home as quickly as possible and get help to my father. It had been a long time since I had walked away from him and the light of that fire into the perpetual darkness. I kept going with nothing in my mind but somehow getting him some help. The storm was still raging. The rain had given way to blowing sleet and snow and now this was developing into only blowing snow. Winds were still 40 to 50 miles per hour. Temperatures had dropped further. Wind chills were down into single digits. And I was not sure what we would find when we got back to the pasture. The last mile I was imagining the very worst.

I was nearly home when I saw lights from an oncoming car. I stood in the middle of the road and waived my arms to get them to stop. And when it did, it was my mom. She was looking for us. She had decided to go to the pasture and see if we were possibly there. She knew we must be in some kind of danger, she just started looking too late. I got into the warm car with her and we quickly drove to where I had left him hours earlier.

The fire had burned out. It was with a sense of relief I saw him walk to the car from where I had left him. He, too, was cold and hurting. He was under visible stress and there was evidence that this was putting stress on his heart. He met us and we drove home.

(A side note: on the way home he insisted we stop by and tell Mr. and Mrs. House that we were alright. For that they were grateful and for their kindness I am still grateful.)