A spring storm swept across the state this weekend, creating drifts in the valleys, shutting down the interstate from Montana to Minnesota, breaking accumulation records and closing schools, businesses, post offices, newspaper offices and pretty much every office in between.

I watched the white stuff fall from the spring sky on Saturday while Pops and I placed rocks on my wall near the kitchen, Husband climbed the big red ladder to put trim on the tall windows and Father in Law wired the outlets in the master bedroom.

We are gonna get this house done. Like the snowflakes, little by little we’re changing the way things look around here.

And so we weren’t much bothered by the weather because it meant we weren’t tempted to abandon our indoor projects for something we could tinker with under the warm spring sun.

Yup, we were given a few more days of winter to finish up our inside world before abandoning it for the great outdoors in the three warm but short months we call summer.

Mark my words, when the sun shines, I am opening these windows and doors and not coming back inside until the sun goes down on the day.

Because, yes, it’s spring, but North Dakotans have not packed away their mittens and coveralls just yet. No. We all know better. We know to keep the shovels leaning up against the doorway, our boots in the entryway and an extra set of coveralls in the truck. We know we’re not out of the snowy woods until June turns into July 4th and the mosquitos have settled in for the long haul.

Spring storms like this, as I’ve said, are hard on the cattle and the calves being born, but I know there are some ND farmers out there thankful for the moisture.

The rest of us, it appears, are getting a kick out of it. Because if the residents of this state are known for anything it’s for our tolerance for this arctic tundra we live in. And a winter storm mid-April just confirms all the notions that our state is a tundra and the people who live here are bundled up snug, tough, and a just a little crazy.

So we send each other photos of kids building snow forts, our dogs jumping through drifts, our husbands clearing snow and the big pile that’s blocking our front door.

And then we ask, “how much did you get? 15 inches you suppose? Can you believe this?! Haven’t seen a spring storm like this for years!”

But we know spring always comes, so we’re ok. We know all this snow will have turned to water running through culverts and cutting little rivers in our gravel roads by the end of the month.

So we go out and take a look, check on our neighbors, shovel our driveways and unstuck the stuck things.

Husband and I are no different. After a day cooped up in home construction mode, we were happy for a bonus snow day. After the morning coffee we were eager to asses the damage and see if we could get out of the nook we created for ourselves.

Four-wheel drive is my hero.

So is the county blade.

A hero to us, and the semi jack-knifed down below that hill in the draw between our house and Mom and Dad’s.

I should have stopped to ask him if he could plow a trail for the pug…

Anyway, when our little exploration was finished, we pulled back in the yard, Husband trudged up the steps to strip off his layers and shrug his shoulders and let the snow be.

I stayed outside poking around, snapping photos, kicking around the drifts and thinking it’s kind of cool to live in a place that can be so unpredictable.

Because Californians may have the sunshine, but they don’t get unexpected snow days. They don’t get to wake up to a phone call telling you to stay home this Monday because the weather demands it, and everyone else is doing the same. And you don’t really know what snuggling is or how good warm feels until you’ve rosied your cheeks and numbed your fingers behind the grip of a snow shovel.

Funny how all that white blanketing our landscape, piling on our cars, sticking to our wool caps, dangling from our rooftops,  closing our interstates and putting our lives on hold is simply an accumulation of billions and billions of tiny, beautiful, delicate little miracles intricately designed to fall from the sky and land on this earth where we squeeze them into snow balls, scrape them from our windshields, taste them on our tongues, curse them to our neighbor, crunch them under our boots, report them on the evening news and watch them dance and blow outside our window.

The snowflake.

It’s a reason to love winter, even when the season has worn out its welcome.

Because only the wrath of nature could make us truly believe that tiny things…

can make a huge difference.