Day 1: The Long, Cold Journey South (1/6/22)
We woke to sub-zero (think -20 degrees) temps in Minneapolis this morning, and fresh snow had fallen overnight.
We woke early, hoping to be on the road by 10:00 a.m. Last loads of laundry, making up beds, cleaning counters, packing food, finding all the last-minute bits and pieces we’d forgotten to pack. The dogs were anxious, wondering what all the activity was about.
Plants were lined up in the sun room for easy watering once a week:
Finally, we were ready to hit the road. A bit later than we’d hoped:
The roads had been cleared earlier in the morning, so all we had to deal with was the cold. Thank the Lord for heated seats in the van. One last, quick check through the house, and we were ready to climb into the Dodge. We didn’t realize till later that we’d left the kitchen lights on. Oops.
Good-bye, dear house. See you in March.
We took I-35W south into the city, under brilliant sunshine and deadly cold. Finally on the road…
I hope you’re getting an idea of how cold it was, It was bitter. The sad thing was, our destination (Kansas City, MO) was also suffering from unseasonal cold, hovering just above zero. I’m pretty sure that all the bottles of kombucha I stashed in our trailer fridge will have frozen solid (and perhaps burst) by the time we open up the trailer in Oklahoma in a few days. Oh, well. Can’t be helped. I won’t think about it.
The eight-hour trip was made less tedious by books on tape (why do we still call it that?). I finished up An Irish Country Doctor and started on Rosamunde Pilcher’s Winter Solstice. Also viewed a few more episodes of a PBS series, Broadchurch. Phil listened to Ann Patchett’s Dutch House.
We stopped twice for gas, letting the dogs out to pee. It was so cold on the windy Iowa plains that we made it the shortest rest stop on record, and the dogs were so shocked by wind chill they couldn’t pee. My legs were numb when I climbed back into the Dodge. Again, thank the Lord for heated car seats.
It’s a monotonous stretch of driving on I-35, even in the green of summer. There is a beauty, though, in the naked trees of winter. Their inscape, as Hopkins puts it, is revealed—each different, like a thumbprint. A friend once wrote a poem that began, “The virtuous trees…” I’ve always liked that phrase.
We arrived in Lee’s Summit at 8:00 p.m., welcomed by my sister Barb and her husband, Gord, for two nights, warmed by a large pot of amazing turkey soup and bread. Family is wonderful. Gord even backed our trailer down their sloping driveway for us. So grateful for family and a warm home.
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