Am I tougher than the winter? Probably not

I was standing outside, next to my car, gathering a few more pieces of video for a story that will run in late January when I realized my ears and forehead were burning from the cold. With a bit of a roll of my eyes at my own stupidity, I recalled that the rancher I was profiling had emailed about needing to dress in layers. The high that day was supposed to reach the teens, but it had just climbed above zero by the time I was standing there.

I grabbed a stocking cap from my car, ignoring the thick insulated gloves that were next to it on the console. I was wearing a thin pair of fleece gloves with special pads for using electronics that better allowed me to operate my camera than the thick pairs I wear if I'm working cows.

In the trunk of my car, just inches from where I was standing, were my insulated coveralls, coated on the bottom with what I'll charitably call mud, and my insulated Muck boots. But I'd just be a few minutes longer, so I figured I didn't need to actually put those layers on. I'd be fine in jeans and cowboy boots. At least I was wearing a winter coat, I surmised.

It was, for the record, my 41st birthday, which goes to show that getting older doesn't always mean getting smarter.

Had I conducted all of my interviews outside, I likely would have piled on more clothes. But I did most of the reporting that day inside a reasonably warm barn, so wearing coveralls and heavy boots seemed superfluous. Most of the trips I made outside to capture video or photos were quick, so I didn't bother with the layers.

Later, as I was trying to record myself standing outside, I realized it might be hard to understand what I was saying, given that my face was half-way frozen in place.

Afterward, I had an hour and a half drive home, during which I uncharacteristically kept the heat on full blast to thaw my fingers and toes. I also spent the time contemplating why I was stubbornly against putting on more clothes in the cold.

I've spent more than two decades in North Dakota, a place with winters so cold that people from other parts of the country think we're lying when we mention the temperatures. During a trip to Florida last year , my girls and I tried, unsuccessfully, to describe the cold to some travelers from southern California. They had no context for what we were saying. Before North Dakota, I lived in south central Montana, which isn't as steadily cold but still can reach to miserable sub zero temperatures for a spell.

If I'm outside for prolonged periods, I'll of course put on the requisite gear to keep myself alive and relatively warm. So, I'm not completely dense.

But I think spending more than four decades enduring these kinds of temperatures has given me an ego about my own limits. I hate wearing coats, so if the temperature is above 20, a thick sweatshirt should be enough to make a quick run into the store, right? It's not like I'm one of those weirdos wearing shorts in the winter! And I have the coat and hat and gloves in case of emergencies; it's just that I've told myself I'm tough enough not to put them on all the time.

It's not true, though. I'm not tough enough. No one is. So if you see me standing outside this winter in not enough layers, please remind me to put on my hat.

Jenny Schlecht is Agweek's editor. She lives on a farm and ranch in Medina, North Dakota, with her husband and two daughters. She can be reached at [email protected] or 701-595-0425.