Couple find adventure, kindness in snowstorm

Couple find adventure, kindness in snowstormWhat do you call a white-out snowstorm with the sun shining? My wife and I found out last weekend when a "ground blizzard" in the I-90 corridor east of Rochester turned us into refugees spending 20 hours with scores of others in a church social hall. As we were heading west through Winona County, high winds were blowing deep snow that had fallen the night before into drifts several feet high on the road; ice had already formed on the surface from rain and rapidly dropping temperatures.

We passed cars stranded on the shoulder. Should we stop and render assistance? Not having the necessary equipment, we pushed on. Then all traffic stopped. What can we do? A truck driver reported that the road was closed and advised seeking shelter. Fortunately, a median break nearby allowed us to turn back east toward the nearest exit, Lewiston. A mile outside town, traffic again stopped until we saw a huge tractor with four rear wheels pull a pickup out of the ditch. As we waited, snow drifted up on the windward side of the car; would we be buried? Overhead, a few thin clouds passed, but sunlight filled the sky. We recalled having seen on television the previous day the description of a "ground blizzard" moving eastward from Kansas. Traffic restarted, and we stopped at a gas station. The attendant called his mother, a parishioner at the St. Rose of Lima Church; the pastor opened the parish hall, expecting to shelter a few people for an hour or so.

We were among the first arrivals around noon; we put out our few lunch fixings to share: "loaves and fishes." Soon a Lewiston neighbor showed up with a huge tub of food for sandwiches; another came with pot of chili, toast, and crackers. By then, the group of stranded travelers had grown to 10. Checking a smart phone app that shows road closures, we saw all southeast Minnesota covered with red. On a pole nearby, wind made the flag stand stiff, parallel to the ground. The refugees kept coming in. By 4 p.m., an emergency responder reported that plowing would cease until the winds abated, possibly during the morning hours.

At sunset the numbers reached 50. Some of them were ones we had passed earlier. More food from parishioners was being served from the kitchen. The pastor assured everyone that the hall would be open as long as needed; a television was rolled out; the Wi-Fi server name and password were written on a blackboard. The county emergency management coordinator soon appeared with news that the Red Cross would provide food and cots. Pillows and blankets appeared, offered by parishioners.

Around 10 p.m. people settled in; the lights were doused. Midnight arrivals pushed the total to 75. Among those sheltered were two dogs and a rabbit. Sleep came for many; calm prevailed throughout the hall; the night passed. By daybreak, it was reported that plows were out again; I-90 was still closed, but U.S. Route 14 would allow east-west traffic to resume. Coffee, fruit, and sweet rolls appeared at the kitchen. People exchanged goodbyes and drifted out; cots were folded and stacked; tables and chairs were put back in order, a vacuum went around. As my wife and I left at 8:30 a.m., the pastor and a few helpers seemed to be preparing for a parish event in the hall, as if exceptional kindness to a horde of strangers was an ordinary thing.

As we made our way west again, evidence of the severity of the "ground blizzard" was apparent in large drifts, the icy road surface, and stranded vehicles. At Rochester we turned north onto U.S. Route 52 and did not find clear roads until we were north of Cannon Falls.

The next time "ground blizzard" appears in the forecast, I shall pay close attention.