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In mid-afternoon the temperature plummeted and occasional flakes of snow wafted toward the brown, dusty earth. In case a storm was approaching, Mary Kidder Rak fed the steers an hour earlier than usual. By the time she'd finished, the wind was snatching the hay from the pitch fork, and she could no longer see the near-by peaks, so thick was the falling snow. Falling is not quite the right term for it, either. Snow seemed to fill the air, coming from every direction at once. Even after it had reached the ground, whirling gusts seized upon the snow and bore it aloft, juggling the flakes in the air.
The chickens became so hysterical that Mary had to catch and carry them, one by one, to the hen house before retreating to her cabin. All night the snow continued, and the wind howled as it uprooted trees, which dragged the telephone line down as they fell.
When Mary arose the next morning, the storm had abated, but drifts jammed the doorways, and the thermometer revealed a temperature of five degrees below zero. She forced her way out the door and dug a path to the barn and then more paths to the feeding troughs for the cattle. No sooner had she wearily finished than the wind gathered strength again and yet another snowstorm roared up the canyon.
