Looking out my Backdoor: This time reminds me

It must have been the winter of ’65-’66. I was pregnant with Dee Dee, who was born in April. Harvey and I lived on the ranch south of Dodson. A mile-long dirt drive with three “farmer gates” of barbed wire strung onto diamond willow sticks separated us from the highway, only three more miles from town.

That grim winter we were snowed in for 90 days straight. Every day of that time our thermometer on the post registered below zero. Wind drifted each snowfall until packed into hard crusts.

Not by choice but necessity, I helped break and learned to drive Harry and August, our young, unbroken team...