All night the house shook.

Our half under ground house sits behind a couple of layers of windbreak. And still the rook felt as though it would lift off any moment.

The cows huddled against the fence in the corn stalks. No good shelter out there. Without snow and not terribly cold, we thought they would be alright. Come morning we would lead them up to the corrals with the tractor and bales of hay. With feed it would be simple to lead them to a more protected place, out of this infernal wind. The cows did not think they were alright. They also did not think it was worth following the feed like they usually do.

Instead they went along only as far as the very top of the hill. Then stalled. There at the crest where the wind hit the hardest. There they would stand and fight, not wanting to go forwards nor back. This is where they have been fed. This is where they will go no further.

I was feeding the calves. When done I was to wait there and cut the netwrap off the bales. Looking across the corn I could see the top of the payloader. Then it was gone again. Then it would come back. Finally my husband came over the radio. The cows would not follow. Could I come chase them.

I took a deep breath and looked across the cornstalks and hay ground. The sky was brown with dirt. The wind howled and pulled every drop of dry powdery dust up from between blades of dry withered grass. Bare fields weren’t required to let the dirt blow. My phone showed 24 degrees.

Those cows are mine. I want them. They are my responsibility. Fighting down reluctance and that inner voice that begged to say no I answered. I’d be right out with a 4wheeler.

My husband my not like cows, but he does like me. He ordered me to bring his suburban despite my fear of ruining the tires on corn stalks. That did sound better than fighting wind and dirt on a 4wheeler.

At the gate I clung to the door as the wind caught it. I was able to slow it’s opening crash, but not prevent it. Getting back in there was no way I could pull it shut against the wind, until I pulled the suburban through and sideways. Then it slammed shot. Grimacing as sharp corn stalks met the tires I tried to avoid as much as possible, keeping wheels between rows. My cows are usually, helpfully, trained, to come to vehicles instead of moving away. I wasn’t sure I could actually chase them with the suburban. Parking I chased the cows on foot.

It was working!

Kind of. They would move away. Then stand and look. Moving back and forth behind the bunch meant half the time going into the wind. With it at my back it wasn’t so bad. Had to brace to keep from blowing over. Lean hard into the force of it. Turning to face into it wasn’t quite as fun. It was better than when there is snow and wind.

The full force of wind like this sucks the air from your lungs. Breathing becomes impossible as you suffocate from an excess of air. The complete inability to take air in is shocking at first. Then becomes scary. Even when expected after years of  experience. Tucking my mouth into my sweatshirt I tried again. No help there. The wind whipped through the cloth. Dang. That usually helps. Turning my back to the wind again I was able to get a few breaths, but not see where I was going or effectively chase cows. Forward and back. Each way just long enough to accomplish the desired task. Then back to the suburban to move it up and get a brief respite.

Until the cows were coming back harder than I could keep up with. My husband leaped out of the payloader and ran to help chase. I realized that my hat was gone. With brief tears, only on the inside, for my beloved hat, I ran. Ran after cows. Ran back to the suburban when I realized it was hopeless. There was my hat! It had hung up on a corn stalk. Yay!

In the suburban I picked up my husband who had cows streaming around him on each side. Nothing to lose. Might as well see if they would run from a vehicle.

I chased and honked and quit worrying about corn stalks through tires.

And the cows moved!

I should have done this in the first place. Then maybe my teeth wouldn’t crunch with the grit between them every time I closed my mouth. Slowly they worked towards the tractor. My husband was easily able to beat them to it. He lead them again. Although they were still not doing their usual great job of following. I was mad by then. And the chase was on. They would move. Whether they wanted to or not.

Finally through the gate out of the first field and into the next, the one over the hill and slightly sheltered, they remembered where they were. That there was the shelter of corrals ahead. That they like following their feed. Off they went. I carefully followed the rows of corn around the edge. Corn stalks will stick through combine tires. Weak little street tires are nothing. Along the way I stopped to pull the covers that had been ripped off the planter off of the electric fence and wedge them as much as I could under the planter. Although the ropes were shredded, at least they hadn’t blown off across the field.

With extra bales out for the cows we hauled a couple up to try to save the n laws 4wheeler shed. An interesting contraption with a pickup topper for a roof and plywood for sides it serves as shelter for a 4wheeler right outside their door. It has seen better days and nearly blew away in the last wind storm. We propped it up with bales. And were finally done for the morning.

Except for getting equipment put away. We took turns. One holding the big sliding doors against the wind while the other quickly pulled the equipment inside the quanset. The closing the doors before they could be ripped of the rails. I couldn’t get the worst one shut alone and needed help with the wind blowing it so hard against the tracks that it would barely slide.

Now, cows sheltered and fed, equipment as safe as we can get it, I can sit in the house for a bit and think about how pioneer women went crazy in this wind. About how easy it would be to join them.