This was written by my grandfather, Poppy, after a Sweet Grass Canyon winter. He recorded that it took “45 gallons of gasoline in 42 miles of driving to feed cattle.” Poppy made a trip to Two Dot in December, 1916. He arrived home on Christmas Eve. The road couldn’t be traveled by wagon again until May, 1917. In March of that year, there was a home delivery. Jack was born and Poppy was the mid-wife.
You may talk about your winters,
And rave about your snow.
But for the world’s worst winter,
Up Sweet Grass Canyon go.
standing on the roof of the house in the winter of 1917
For endless drifts and blizzards,
And everlasting snow,
Don’t go to Nome, Alaska,
But up Sweet Grass Canyon go.
The South Pole and Antarctica
Are just a hothouse plant
Compared to Sweet Grass Canyon
When the weather is on the rant.
For one hundred days successively
You never see the sun.
And when you think it shines at last,
Winter has just begun.
Twenty miles to mail a letter,
Forty miles to go to town.
Ten miles out is the nearest road,
With grades straight up and down.
No telephone, no snowplow –
You’re really on your own.
When you start up Sweet Grass Canyon,
The place that you call home.
a typical winter scene in Sweet Grass Canyon