Grandma's house never looked so good

Add darkness to this scene plus less visibility and you’ll have a pretty good idea of what we were driving in.

Hubby is today’s guest blogger.

Over the icy highway and through a blinding blizzard to Grandmother’s house we went…

For the first 38 years of my 42-year life, Grandma's farmhouse, located in the center of my home county, was associated with great food and good times. My paternal grandmother lived on the farm from 1946 until her death in March 1991. Then in 1994 — the year of our marriage — my Aunt Eloyce returned to the farm from Portland, Ore.

Both women were excellent bakers and cooks. Grandma Lila specialized in oatmeal cookies, while Aunt Eloyce ran a commercial baked good company and later a bakery in the county seat town just five highway miles west. Eloyce, Roxie and I often enjoyed cooking bistro-style dishes. After Eloyce’s death from cancer almost five years ago, her husband, Uncle Rick, spent another 18 months on the farm, until moving to his son’s farm. He also died too young in his middle 50s.

Since late 2005, no one has lived in the once-glorious, two-story farmhouse with four gables built circa 1908 that features a couple stained or frosted glass windows. The house is in need of exterior paint and a tremendous amount of interior work.

Uncle Gary, a wheat, corn, sunflower and feed grain farmer and cattle rancher, uses the house daily to prepare lunches, conduct farm business or take an occassional nap. Guests are rare. The house occasionally serves as a weekend shelter for the family members.

Let’s say that “Farmer Gary’s Bed and Breakfast” just ain’t frou-frou.

Last Saturday Roxie and I joined our friend Tonya for supper and concert in a town located 60 miles to our northeast. For two days the weather service had forecasted a winter storm. Even so, Tonya and I decided mid-afternoon to keep our supper plans.

Roxie and I drove though some light snow and heavy winds to our intermediate destination, Tonya’s house.

Roxie said, “You are nuts to be traveling today. Tonight is supposed to be worse.”

Perhaps I should have listened to her wisdom. About a third of the way back from the concert, we hit the snowstorm, marked by light-to-moderate snow and 35 to 55 mph northwesterly winds.

We dropped Tonya off at her hometown nine miles east of the farmhouse. Those nine miles to the highway junction and farm were some of the longest nine miles I’ve ever driven. Increasing snow accumulation blinded us. The snow was falling horizontally, whipped by the strong winds.

In the first two miles we decided we would not travel the 27 miles south at the junction, but instead take refuge at the farm or my parents’ house in the county seat town another five miles west. Often, I had to slow to a crawl in the zero visibility. Once we finally arrived at the corner where the farm’s driveway is, we could barely make out the driveway’s entrance.

Even though we could hardly see a thing, Grandma’s house had never looked so good! I believe the spirits of Grandma Lila and Aunt Eloyce and the heavenly angels were watching over us, guiding us to a shelter in a time of storm! When we entered the enclosed back porch, we found the house locked.

We called Uncle Gary at 11:30 p.m. on our cell and he came out into the storm to let us in. He had a difficult time finding the farm driveway, even though he makes the short drive every day from his current home to the only other home in which he’s ever lived.

Uncle Gary told us we were nuts to be traveling and weather conditions weren’t fit for man or beast.

After a decent night’s sleep our host returned to assist us in making scrambled farm eggs, ring sausage, toast and grapes. I asked him if he was going to open the farm house full-time as a bed and breakfast and also teach city folks how to farm and ranch. He said no with an expletive. We told him we’d even give him free advertising on this blog. Why, in our master suite we even found a Glamour and a Cosmopolitan magazine (likely left by Eloyce’s daughter who now lives in North Carolina). I asked if they belonged to him. His response: another expletive. Glamour and Cosmopolitan for the guests; now that’s what I call borderline frou-frou!

After breakfast, we left farm to come home. Snowplow had passed through, but we could plainly see that the sections of the road had been impassable.

Grandma’s house had truly never looked so good. A warm bed is much better than a cold pickup stuck in a snowbank.

Picture comes from blog Olla Podrida.