The Loon Whisperer

Loon Whisperer Photo WIR COLUMN-grayby Terry Uhde Otto

Every single one…..

I was at the giant gas station right off Hwy 10 on the outskirts of Detroit Lakes filling up when I noticed the woman about my age at the pump directly across from mine. The 40 mph wind roaring across the prairie from Fargo and points west had created a wind tunnel effect and for one horrid moment, I feared she’d been flash frozen in place, clutching the pump handle in a bare, manicured hand. She stood in heels staring eastward with a Grumpy Cat “I can’t BELIEVE this !@#$!! WIND!!!” frown. Suddenly, she caught me looking her way and smiled, shrugging in the way we do here in Minnesota when there’s not a darn thing we can do about -15 windchill factors and hard windshield washer fluid in mid-November. I shrugged back and forced a sympathetic smile of polar vortex solidarity and thought, hold on, Sister. We’ll get our tanks filled and get back into our cars and blow on our hands and be warm again, I promise. We will live to buy a turkey. Maybe even bake a pie or ten. All will be well, my frozen friend. All will be well. It’s nearly Thanksgiving.

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