A few days ago, I drove through the Sheyenne River valley. Trees stood fully naked, the last leaves blowing down valley on an icy thermal. Birds are long gone, although it seems like yesterday a few stragglers remained. I wait for the first flakes of sn, sn, sn, SNOW, which could fall any moment. The early morning hours are 30 degrees or below, and the low grey clouds hold moisture that must fall to earth.

Last year I was traveling to North Dakota for a job interview. On this exact day, I set up my camper Half Moon in the Black Hills, SD, where I stayed a few days to contemplate the possible move, sorting out the pros and cons of such a drastic change. I gathered my thoughts as Tango and I hiked alone in an area typically crawling with tourists. Night temperatures dipped below 30 degrees and the clouds threatened snow, like now. We huddled at night, while I wondered, imagined, anticipated. Before long, I was fragrant and disheveled from camping, so I spent the last night of my northward trek at the dog-friendly Super 8 in Pierre, SD, where I morphed into a respectable minister. The next morning, we drove into North Dakota, and I remember looking at the stark pre-winter landscape and wondering what spring and summer could bring, besides millions of migrating birds. Green? Lush? Maybe.

I preached the first two Sundays in November and accepted the job offer. Winter started right then, as the first snow fell. Regardless, I had to return to Wyoming for my stuff. Although I do not recommend moving to North Dakota in November while driving a U-Haul, I made it work, stopping again at the Super 8 the night before I rode into North Dakota from the south. I was eager to start my ministry here and to reunite with Tango, who stayed behind with a kind stranger named Don, now our BFF. Winter was neither an obstacle nor an omen.

This last year, I  experienced minus 50 degrees (with the wind-chill), fell in love with ice-fishing, and explored the stunning prairie pothole terrain.Spring arrived, then summer. Birds invaded, and I doubled my life list. I camped in turtle habitat and next to a vulture rookery. I explored the Missouri River area, an hours drive to the west. I visited the biggest towns: Fargo, Bismarck, and Minot and cruised through the boom/bust energy extraction footprint.  In church, we turned from strangers to a renewed family of faith as we bumbled towards the future. We baptized newly born babies and buried much-loved grandparents. Together we walked through the cycles of life.

I am ready for another winter. I washed my warmest clothes and lined up my boots–one pair for wet snow, another for deep snow, and yet another for ice-fishing. Mittens, scarves, hand warmers, gaiters. My new chest freezer is full of the garden harvest. At the first snow, I will make a beet/vegetable/beef soup like the early Germans from Russia settlers made, using all home-grown veggies. I missed having a fireplace last year so I bought an elegant, free-standing, faux wood stove which provides electric heat and fake flames. Silly perhaps but the ambiance is real and cozy. Already I have sipped tea and read books as the heat warms my feet. Such joy from a metal box, a light bulb and a fan.

My new year begins now. I celebrate with the spiffy Cedar Waxwings, who return to nibble berries on my trees and the Blue Jays, who nab the peanuts I set out just for them. I am thankful for the people who came into my life and my new memories. Perhaps that first flake of snow will come today. If not, soon enough snow will blanket our tiny town for another winter.