John Dangel (left) and other downtown Freeman store owners labored to keep their sidewalks open.

Ken Haar and his dog Bear walked down the center of a residential street during the blizzard.

As rural customers cancelled appointments, hair stylist Jan Becker called women in town and told them she had free time if they could brave the weather.

Blizzard in a Small Town

Photography and story by Bernie Hunhoff

A winter storm overwhelms a small town, almost as if the North Wind is flapping a mile-wide blanket of gray goose feathers overhead, rudely muffling all the streets and houses.

The intentions of the few citizens spotted outdoors in a blizzard are immediately obvious. They are walking the dog. Rushing from the grocery store with plastic bags. Shoveling the front steps to maintain the “you’re welcome here anytime” look that’s exhibited on most small town houses in South Dakota. Dawdling is done indoors on days like this.

We waited out such a storm in Freeman (pop. 1,200) and watched the town come to a crawl. Activity was inversely proportionate to the growing speed of the howling wind. Gusts blew to 50 miles per hour, ignoring 30 MPH street signs that poked above the snowdrifts.

The clerk at a variety store on the edge of town lamented that she hadn’t been able to get home to Marion, just a dozen miles away, for two days. She was staying with a cousin. A hair stylist at the Mane Attraction was on the phone, switching appointments from rural people who couldn’t get to town with city dwellers hardy enough to venture a few blocks.

The grocer at Jamboree darted out of the store in a green sweater every hour or so and quickly shoved the snow from his sidewalk. Customers parked near the store’s front door and usually left their engines running as they dashed inside. A desperate thief could have had his pick but no one in Freeman fit the description that particular day.

A little boy in a ski mask came out of the store with two sacks, apparently on an errand for mom. He playfully scaled a 15-foot-high pile of snow in the middle of Main Street before he hustled home to deliver staples to the family kitchen.

Most of the town’s businesses were still open as darkness settled beneath the howling gray blanket. Lights stayed on at the Freeman Courier because it was deadline day and the Waltners were not going to delay the weekly newspaper for a blizzard. The new library was open next door. Flags whipped wildly over a local bank. A snowplow operator skimmed the streets. Fensel’s Motel on the edge of town had rooms available. “Take Number Seven,” said the clerk. “The key is in the door.”

An awful assault of high winds, snow and cold could feel evil to someone suffering its clutches. But a small town is a good place to wait out a storm. Freeman’s citizenry seemed to accept the blizzard as nature’s due for the privilege of living in South Dakota, and that attitude seemed sensible. The storm was a nuisance that would pass. And sure enough, the morning dawned calm and clear.

Editor’s Note: This story is revised from the January/February 2011 issue of South Dakota Magazine. To order a copy or to subscribe, call (800) 456-5117.