Despite the full-fledged whining that I've heard from many of my fellow Texans in recent days, I enjoy the cold. I savor the cold. There is such beauty in a frosted landscape, a grey-shaded earth. All seems to be in a sleepy peace.
Beyond the physical attractiveness of the cold, I find that it connects me to ages past. As I shiver in my gas-heated home, I imagine the Bohemian settlers in Nebraska surviving their first winters. When I eat the homemade beef stew prepared in my electric Crock Pot, I think of the Germans making their way across the windy plains to find plots of land to farm. I try to fathom their cold. I try to fathom such will.
Though I'd like to believe that I am made of such grit, I know how spoiled I am by modern conveniences. I'm sure there's a great-great-great uncle reading this from above who is laughing at my audacity at this very moment. (Uncle Fritz? You there?) However, this doesn't take away the appreciation I have for those who cleared the way for me, nor the beauty I see in a wintry, January day. All is beautiful.
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The trek across the plains really wasn't that bad I hear. They burnt cow chips (dried cow poop, called "Mistholz") to stay warm and they made houses out of mud to shield them from the elements. They had no running water, but had good ground water, just 32-35 feet beneath the surface of the earth. Early pulley system fetched out an ample days supply. They didn't have outhouses, but there were some trees that served purpose for more than just #1. So while even though all of their basic needs were met, they realized that it was each other that was the most important and they forged connections with each another that today's society could only wish for.
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