The warm side of a cold front

LYNNETTE HINTZE

There's only one thing that can drag me to northern Minnesota in the depths of January, and that's when duty calls.

While the rest of you finalize trips to balmy Hawaii or book Caribbean cruises, I'll be on my way to Fargo, N.D. - that's right, Fargo - the closest airport to my hometown just across the Minnesota border.

Those of you who have seen the movie "Fargo" may remember the bleak opening scene, with snow drifting across a barren Minnesota highway. That desolate scene unfortunately is part of my psyche. I lived it for too many years.

Here's the deal. My middle brother, the one who lives on my great uncle's homestead a mile from my parents' farm, is the one who plows my folks' road in the winter, hauls them to myriad doctor appointments and checks in on them. He had surgery in late December and is recovering. That left us in a quandary about how to get Mom and Dad through January, the longest, most dismal month of the year in that part of the country.

Aging parents with various medical conditions, alone in the country, is not an ideal situation. We say every year they should move to town, but farmers are inherently connected to the land and typically don't leave willingly. My mother still drives, but doesn't dare get out on the roads when it's icy, blowing or snowing, so that pretty much leaves them stranded from December to April.

We decided on a tag-team approach to get them through the worst weeks of winter, with my oldest brother heading to the farm first. When he leaves, I arrive. Then when I leave, my youngest brother steps in. By that time, my middle brother will be up to full speed and it will be that much closer to spring.

I've gotten soft living in the Flathead, where it seems brutally cold if the temperature dips into single digits ABOVE zero. Sure, we get the occasional below-zero stint, but there is quite literally nothing like January in northern Minnesota. I remember weeks of 20 to 30 below at a crack. I'm counting on global warming to get me through the next week and a half.

There have been two times in my life when I was so cold I thought I'd die. Both were in Minnesota.

The first time I was in sixth grade and had insisted on wearing fishnet stockings and patent leather go-go boots (hey, it was the late '60s and I was hip) to school one day in January. It was after a blizzard and the driveway hadn't been plowed yet, but the buses were running. Mom implored me to wear snowpants and sensible boots, but I was too cool. Keep in mind these were the days when girls couldn't wear pants to school and mini-skirts were in fashion. Wearing snowpants was utterly and completely humiliating.

I slogged through thigh-high snow to the bus stop. No, it wasn't 2 miles uphill, but it was a quarter-mile due north. My legs felt like needles were piercing through my skin. I'm sure Mom was fairly unsympathetic when I later whined about how cold I was.

The other time I came that close to frostbite I again was scantily clad. My oldest brother and I were on the way to church in his restored 1953 Ford. I was wearing a short skirt and nylon stockings, and the car broke down about five miles from the church. It was minus 30 that morning, and we walked more than a mile to a neighbor's house. No cell phones back then.

Now that I'm older and don't care much about being "cool," I'm ready for what awaits me in the North Country. I'm packing wool socks, long johns and sensible winter boots.

Mom will be proud.

And if her e-mail of two days ago is any indication, I'll need all the winter apparel I can muster. She said it was 20 below that morning, "with a cold front on the way."

Only in Minnesota would 20 below be considered the warm side of a cold front.

Features editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or by e-mail at lhintze@dailyinterlake.com