Today's #womenshistorymonth post is a little personal family folklore. Imagine it's wintertime in the mid-late1800s, eastern North Dakota. People use horse and buggy to get around and they birth their babies at home. My great great grandmother goes into labor.

Her husband heads out to try and fetch the doctor. The snow worsens into a terrible blizzard. He has zero visibility. He drops the reigns, unable to guide the horses. I cannot imagine how terrifying that must have been, worried that he would freeze to death and his wife might die in childbirth, alone and scared.
A bit later, in a very favorable and seemingly magical turn of events, the horses stop and great great grandpa realizes they have stopped right in front of their barn.
He runs inside and sees his new baby, healthy, swaddled, and sleeping. His wife, my lady boss ancestor, is doing just fine. In fact, she's up and in the kitchen. PEELING POTATOES. FOR DINNER.
If you know me, my mother, or her mother, this really explains a lot about us. We come from hardy stock and we are proud of it.
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