It was a blustery, thundery night on March 14.
Not that we knew, because we were shut into a tiny office with windows the size of postage stamps.
It had started as a reasonably normal Saturday. Rural reporters, as you may be aware, don't really get days off. I had just come back from doing a few interviews at the Music Festival. Luke had stopped by a 100th birthday party. And Alex was on his way back to the office from Rich Lake, photographing horse-and-wagon teams.
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