Soapweed
Well-known member
Stan Moreland was my dad, Bob Moreland's brother. Stan died in 1999.
From the book SHORT STORIES BY STAN, by Stan Moreland, Merriman, Nebraska, published in 1995.
THE BLIZZARD OF 1956
Early in the morning of November 2, 1956, we woke to a howling blizzard at the ranch. My cousin's son, Joe Justus from Canada, was staying with us that year, going to high school in Merriman. He and I had driven our replacement heifers and a few cows with late calves to the Gardiner place a few days earlier. The Gardiner place is a 160 acre hay meadow about six miles north of our ranch. We had beautiful after-growth on the meadow, which I thought would be a perfect place for our young livestock. The main fault one could find with this meadow was its lack of winter protection. We had some wooden windbreaks at the north end of the meadow by the water well, and that was all. I was afraid the cattle might drift with the storm and miss the shelter. We also needed to tend to some cow/calf pairs in a little meadow north of Cottonwood Lake.
All I had for dependable transportation at that time was a brand new 1956 Ford "Fairlane 500." It was black with red interior. I hated to start out in a blizzard with my dream car, but we had no other choice. We went around by Merriman to get to Cottonwood Lake, and luck was with us. We called the cows up to the gate, and we put them across the road into our hills. I knew they would be okay there, as we had a lot of pockets in the hills where they could bed down.
Next we got back on the highway, with visibility being almost zero by this time. We went down the old highway just north of Merriman. By driving slow and looking out of open windows, we were able to see the turnoff into our meadow. There was an old wooden bridge at the gate, which was about five feet above the drainage ditch. Joe got out to open the gate, and as the wind was blowing so terribly strong from the north, he chose to walk backwards to carry the gate out of the way of the car. He made one mistake that caused him a lot of grief. He took one step too many, and wound up in the creek on his back, completely submerged. It was only about two feet deep, so he had no trouble getting out and back into the car, except the cold water was a terrible shock to his body.
I turned the heater up full blast, and tried to warm him up the best we could. He had to dump out his boots and wring out his socks on the floor of my "dream car." After getting into the meadow, I wanted to go up to the old building site where we hoped to find the cattle. I was sure I was headed west by northwest. All of a sudden, I realized we were stuck. Upon further investigation, I found out we had been going due south and had ended up in the swampy area which had not yet frozen.
We knew it wouldn't do us or the cattle any good if we stayed in the car, which was buried up to the bottom of the doors. We got out and started walking. We couldn't see ten feet ahead of us, and we walked in circles for about an hour trying to get our bearings. Eventually we found a stack yard with some cattle trying to find shelter. We opened the gate and let about twenty head right in with the stacks. I knew they would be alright.
We started out walking again looking for the windbreak and corrals. Luckily within a few minutes we came upon a fence we recognized, and followed it to our destination. The rest of the cattle seemed to be where we hoped we would find them, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We had just spread dry fertilizer on the meadow earlier, and the paper sacks were in the old house. I got an idea if we'd take the sacks over by the open shed, we could burn them and warm up. We put them in the shed, thinking the fire would be small and under control. The hay on the hog wire roof didn't seem to be of any concern to us. The phosphate in the fertilizer caused our fire to go straight up and make contact with the hay. We had to kick our fire outside to save the building. Besides, the fumes and smoke were so intense we couldn't get within 20 feet of the fire. Our whole mission seemed to be branded by defeat.
After our fire died out to where we thought it would be safe, we decided we had to get out of there as quickly as we could. Joe's legs were freezing from his sudden and unexpected bath, and I was pretty chilly, too.
We thought by following fences we could probably make it to Garould Fairhead's ranch, which was less than a mile away. We had just started out on this trek when we could hear a tractor motor in the distance. We headed to where we thought the sound was coming from, and it was my cousin Joy Fairhead. He was on his way to go check cattle at his camp, which was several miles to the west. After about ten minutes of discussion, we finally convinced Joy that he would never make it. As a result, he turned the tractor around, and Joe and I rode behind him standing on the drawbar to his ranch two miles to the north. Joy was a God-send to Joe and me. Lois had a nice dinner cooking, and in the meantime she let Joe and me crawl into a bed while she washed and dried our clothes. Things began to go our way at last.
After a delicious dinner, Joy took us home in his pickup. The storm broke, and visibility was almost completely restored. We were happy the storm was short-lived, and we came through in fine shape. The next morning we were able to get the car home.
Not so lucky were two boys who were riding horseback double to a country school that morning, from a ranch 20 miles south of Merriman. They only had two miles to go. One boy decided to ride the horse back home, while the other persisted in walking on to school. The boy that went home made it safe and sound. By the time the rancher and several of his neighbors found the other boy, he had frozen to death. It was a real sad occasion for the community and his family. I think November 2, 1956 will always be remembered as one of the most vicious storms the Merriman area had ever encountered. The best part of it was it didn't last long, and soon the snow was all melted.
From the book SHORT STORIES BY STAN, by Stan Moreland, Merriman, Nebraska, published in 1995.
THE BLIZZARD OF 1956
Early in the morning of November 2, 1956, we woke to a howling blizzard at the ranch. My cousin's son, Joe Justus from Canada, was staying with us that year, going to high school in Merriman. He and I had driven our replacement heifers and a few cows with late calves to the Gardiner place a few days earlier. The Gardiner place is a 160 acre hay meadow about six miles north of our ranch. We had beautiful after-growth on the meadow, which I thought would be a perfect place for our young livestock. The main fault one could find with this meadow was its lack of winter protection. We had some wooden windbreaks at the north end of the meadow by the water well, and that was all. I was afraid the cattle might drift with the storm and miss the shelter. We also needed to tend to some cow/calf pairs in a little meadow north of Cottonwood Lake.
All I had for dependable transportation at that time was a brand new 1956 Ford "Fairlane 500." It was black with red interior. I hated to start out in a blizzard with my dream car, but we had no other choice. We went around by Merriman to get to Cottonwood Lake, and luck was with us. We called the cows up to the gate, and we put them across the road into our hills. I knew they would be okay there, as we had a lot of pockets in the hills where they could bed down.
Next we got back on the highway, with visibility being almost zero by this time. We went down the old highway just north of Merriman. By driving slow and looking out of open windows, we were able to see the turnoff into our meadow. There was an old wooden bridge at the gate, which was about five feet above the drainage ditch. Joe got out to open the gate, and as the wind was blowing so terribly strong from the north, he chose to walk backwards to carry the gate out of the way of the car. He made one mistake that caused him a lot of grief. He took one step too many, and wound up in the creek on his back, completely submerged. It was only about two feet deep, so he had no trouble getting out and back into the car, except the cold water was a terrible shock to his body.
I turned the heater up full blast, and tried to warm him up the best we could. He had to dump out his boots and wring out his socks on the floor of my "dream car." After getting into the meadow, I wanted to go up to the old building site where we hoped to find the cattle. I was sure I was headed west by northwest. All of a sudden, I realized we were stuck. Upon further investigation, I found out we had been going due south and had ended up in the swampy area which had not yet frozen.
We knew it wouldn't do us or the cattle any good if we stayed in the car, which was buried up to the bottom of the doors. We got out and started walking. We couldn't see ten feet ahead of us, and we walked in circles for about an hour trying to get our bearings. Eventually we found a stack yard with some cattle trying to find shelter. We opened the gate and let about twenty head right in with the stacks. I knew they would be alright.
We started out walking again looking for the windbreak and corrals. Luckily within a few minutes we came upon a fence we recognized, and followed it to our destination. The rest of the cattle seemed to be where we hoped we would find them, and I breathed a sigh of relief. We had just spread dry fertilizer on the meadow earlier, and the paper sacks were in the old house. I got an idea if we'd take the sacks over by the open shed, we could burn them and warm up. We put them in the shed, thinking the fire would be small and under control. The hay on the hog wire roof didn't seem to be of any concern to us. The phosphate in the fertilizer caused our fire to go straight up and make contact with the hay. We had to kick our fire outside to save the building. Besides, the fumes and smoke were so intense we couldn't get within 20 feet of the fire. Our whole mission seemed to be branded by defeat.
After our fire died out to where we thought it would be safe, we decided we had to get out of there as quickly as we could. Joe's legs were freezing from his sudden and unexpected bath, and I was pretty chilly, too.
We thought by following fences we could probably make it to Garould Fairhead's ranch, which was less than a mile away. We had just started out on this trek when we could hear a tractor motor in the distance. We headed to where we thought the sound was coming from, and it was my cousin Joy Fairhead. He was on his way to go check cattle at his camp, which was several miles to the west. After about ten minutes of discussion, we finally convinced Joy that he would never make it. As a result, he turned the tractor around, and Joe and I rode behind him standing on the drawbar to his ranch two miles to the north. Joy was a God-send to Joe and me. Lois had a nice dinner cooking, and in the meantime she let Joe and me crawl into a bed while she washed and dried our clothes. Things began to go our way at last.
After a delicious dinner, Joy took us home in his pickup. The storm broke, and visibility was almost completely restored. We were happy the storm was short-lived, and we came through in fine shape. The next morning we were able to get the car home.
Not so lucky were two boys who were riding horseback double to a country school that morning, from a ranch 20 miles south of Merriman. They only had two miles to go. One boy decided to ride the horse back home, while the other persisted in walking on to school. The boy that went home made it safe and sound. By the time the rancher and several of his neighbors found the other boy, he had frozen to death. It was a real sad occasion for the community and his family. I think November 2, 1956 will always be remembered as one of the most vicious storms the Merriman area had ever encountered. The best part of it was it didn't last long, and soon the snow was all melted.