Snow Flakes the Size of Watermelons Fell on Fort Keogh

Enormous snow flakes fell on Ft. Keogh in Montana in 1887.

Note:  By coincidence, yesterday’s post about the fate of the cow pony Old Blue touched on one of the same series of storms as this entry which made the winter of 1886-87 so memorable on the High Plains.  .

The winter of 1886-87 was the most brutal ever recorded over a wide swath of the West.  East of the Rocky Mountains from Indian Territory to Montana storm after storm dumped white stuff on the open range where much of the nation’s beef was raised.  The Great Blizzard of ’87, which lasted for ten days from January 9 to 19, was worst in Montana.  Sixteen inches of snow came down the first 16 hours amid driving winds and temperatures that dipped to -47˚.  And it just kept coming.

Cattle, already weakened by a summer drought and poor grass, floundered and died by the hundreds of thousands.  As ranchers began to try to dig out of drifts that covered their cabins and reached high lofts of their barns, they hoped things would get better.

It was a good thing troopers at Fort Keogh were issued warm, heavy buffalo robe coats and hats.  They needed them in January 1887 when the snow was significantly deeper than in this earlier 1880 photo.

But on January 29 at Fort Keogh—named for a captain in General Custer’s doomed 7th Cavalry command—near Miles City in southeastern Montana huge flakes began to fall.  And I mean huge.  Flakes were gathered and measured at 15 inches across and 8 inches thick weighing several ounces.  Men, horses, and cattle were actually injured by the falling flakes, the largest ever recorded anywhere.  The reports were so outlandish that they might have been dismissed as tall tales had they not been witnessed and attested to by a whole Army post.

Charles M. Russell was a working Montana cow hand during the brutal winter of 1886-87.  He rose to fame on the basis of sketches and watercolors like this of the storm.  The Last of 5000 means the steer was a survivor of a vast herd killed by the storm--and it looks like his days are numbered.  Russell became one of the great Western artists, which was good because after the storm devastated ranching it was hard times for former cow pokes.

More blizzards fallowed in February.  When the spring thaw finally came, coincidentally unleashing devastating floods, the corpses of millions of cattle littered the plains.  The industry was virtually wiped out and the old system of open range feeding never recovered.

So, campers, if it’s been a rough winter where you are, thank your lucky stars the flakes of Fort Keogh did not fall again on you.

 

Compassion for Campers Concludes Outdoor Season and Appeals for Help Over Winter

Many of the unhoused in McHenry County will continue to have to camp over the winter as new homelessness will continue to rise.  Compassion for Campers ability to continue serving this population now depends on securing new storage and transportation as well as additional volunteers. 

 

The Faith Leaders of McHenry County and Compassion for Campers will conduct the final outdoor distribution of camping gear and supplies to the homeless this season at St, Ann’s Episcopal Church, 503 West Jackson in Woodstock on today, Tuesday, October 27 from 3:30-5:00 p.m.  Warm clothes are now being offered as well a Meals Ready to Eat (MRE) rations provided by McHenry County Emergency Management and the McHenry Country Health Department.

Volunteers from the Crystal Lake-Ridgefield Presbyterian Church are assisting this week.

Distribution of supplies will be drive through/walk up with face masks required, social distancing observed, and no gathering.  Among the supplies available while they last will be tents, sleeping bags, tarps and pads, camp stoves, coolers, hygiene products, other sundries, and non-perishable food.

 “Compassion for Campers hopes to continue distributions over the winter at indoor locations but logistical issues have arisen and unless they can be resolved we may have to suspend operations until next spring,” according to Patrick Murfin, one of the program coordinators.  “We need storage space for our gear, a reliable truck or van with driver to transport and return the gear from each distribution, and additional volunteers to help screen clients for Covid 19 and sanitize our spaces.” 

For more information or to volunteer services contact Patrick Murfin at 815 814-5645 or e-mail pmurfin@sbcglobal.net .

Donations to continue the work can be made by sending a check made out to Tree of Life UU Congregation with Compassion for Campers on the memo line to the church at 5603 West Bull Valley Road, McHenry, IL 60050.  Compassion for Campers is a dedicated fund and no donations to it can be used by Tree of Life for any other purpose.  The church absorbs all administrative expenses so 100% of donations will be used to aid the homeless.

Groundhog Day Part II—Wake Up! Murfin Verse

Most years I mark Groundhog Day with one of my usual in depth histories of the pagan origins in the Celtic festival of Imbolc or similar Norse observations and Christian cooption of those traditions as St. Brigid’s Day in Ireland or Candlemas in Britain and the adoption of folk customs into made up American pseudo holiday.  Or sometimes I rerun a favorite essay on the symbolism and philosophy of Groundhog Day, the movie like I did earlier today. 

But in 2017, just days after the inauguration of Donald Trump and as the scope of the disaster was unfolding faster than the gloomiest predictions, I was moved to commit poetry.

Since we wake up again in the same predicament, it still seems apt.

Wake Up!

Groundhog Day 2017

6:00 am

Wake Up!

It’s yesterday again!

It will always be yesterday again.

If you don’t 

get your ass out of bed right now

and do something

today will replace it

in the time loop.

Trust me.

You don’t want that.

Today is going to be a

Motherfucker.

Wake Up!

—Patrick Murfin

Groundhog Day De ja vu—Wake Up! Murfin Verse

I am writing and posting this in the wee small hours of the morning before Woodstock Willie gets yanked from his slumber at 7:07 this morning or the original Punxsutawney Phil back east in Pennsylvania will see their shadows or not.  It hardly matters.  It will be the coldest February 2 since the McHenry County town began celebrating annually in honor of the cult classic Bill Murray movie shot there with the temperature hovering around zero. Then we are expected to get 5-6 inches of snow over the weekend followed by about a week of more snow or flurries every other day.  No matter what, winter seems determined to stay.

Most years I mark Groundhog Day with one of my usual in depth histories of the pagan origins in the Celtic festival of Imbolc or similar Norse observations and Christian cooption of those traditions as St. Brigid’s Day in Ireland or Candlemas in Britain and the adoption of folk customs into made up American pseudo holiday.  Or sometimes I rerun a favorite essay on the symbolism and philosophy of Groundhog Day, the movie.   Once or twice I threw both together for an extra hearty read.

But last year, just days after the inauguration of Donald Trump and as the scope of the disaster was unfolding faster than the gloomiest predictions, I was moved to commit poetry.

Since we wake up again in the same predicament, it still seems apt.

Wake Up!

Groundhog Day 2017

6:00 am

Wake Up!

It’s not yesterday again!

It will never be yesterday again.

But if you don’t

get your ass out of bed right now

and do something

today will replace it

in the time loop.

Trust me.

You don’t want that.

Today is going to be a

Motherfucker.

Wake Up!

—Patrick Murfin

Snow Flakes the Size of Watermelons

Enormous snow flakes fell on Ft. Keogh in Montana in 1887.

Note:  By coincidence, yesterday’s post about the fate of the cow pony Old Blue touched on one of the same series of storms as this entry which made the winter of 1886-87 so memorable on the High Plains.  

The winter of 1886-87 was the most brutal ever recorded over a wide swath of the West.  East of the Rocky Mountains from Indian Territory to Montana storm after storm dumped white stuff on the open range where much of the nation’s beef was raised.  The Great Blizzard of ’87, which lasted for ten days from January 9 to 19, was worst in Montana.  Sixteen inches of snow came down the first 16 hours amid driving winds and temperatures that dipped to -47˚.  And it just kept coming.

Cattle, already weakened by a summer drought and poor grass, floundered and died by the hundreds of thousands.  As ranchers began to try to dig out of drifts that covered their cabins and reached high lofts of their barns, they hoped things would get better.

It was a good thing troopers at Fort Keogh were issued warm, heavy buffalo robe coats and hats.  They needed them in January 1887 when the snow was significantly deeper than in this earlier 1880 photo.

But on January 29 at Fort Keogh near Miles City in southeastern Montana huge flakes began to fall.  And I mean huge.  Flakes were gathered and measured at 15 inches across and 8 inches thick weighing several ounces.  Men, horses, and cattle were actually injured by the falling flakes, the largest ever recorded anywhere.  The reports we so outlandish that they might have been dismissed as tall tales had they not been witnessed and attested to by a whole Army post.

More blizzards fallowed in February.  When the spring thaw finally came, coincidentally unleashing devastating floods, the corpses of millions of cattle littered the plains.  The industry was virtually wiped out and the old system of open range feeding never recovered.

Charles M. Russell was a working Montana cow hand during the brutal winter of 1886-87.  He rose to fame on the basis of sketches and watercolors like this of the storm some of which were made into engravings for the popular illustrated weekly.  The Last of 5000 means the steer was a survivor of a vast herd killed by the storm--and it looks like his days are numbered.  Russell became one of the great Western artists, which was good because after the storm devastated ranching it was hard times for former cow pokes.

 

 

 

So, campers, if  it’s been a rough winter where you are, thank your lucky stars the flakes of Fort Keogh did not fall again on you.