What I learned during anguish on Amtrak ride

 It could be worse.

“Scandihoovians” like to drive home that sentiment whenever they can, so when I arrived in Fargo, N.D., on Amtrak eight hours late on my birthday last week, I was immediately greeted by my mother with, “Well, it could be worse.”

And yes, it was.

Mom took me out for lunch, and since I had turned 55 that day she insisted I order off the senior “55-Plus” menu at Perkins.

I declined.

I was in Hawley, Minn., for the high-school graduation of my youngest nephew. He belongs to my middle brother Rod, the dairy farmer-turned-massage therapist who’s found his niche making house calls to the elderly and has to — I kid you not — schedule in time for coffee and cookies following the deep-tissue sessions.

Rod’s wife was diagnosed with breast cancer just a week before the family’s big graduation party, and once again, that tried-and-true adage, “It could be worse,” came into play. Doctors caught the cancer early and her prognosis is good.

While Rod and his wife were inundated with doctors’ appointments the days leading up to graduation, the rest of us pitched in to scrub floors, wash windows and get everything in order for a big party.

Incessant rain threatened to wreak havoc on the gravel road, which even the day before graduation was nearly impassable. The backup plan was a big tractor and chains ready to pull cars out of the mud. Luckily the weather cooperated and it dried up enough to make the road passable. The event went off without a hitch.

The night before I was supposed to catch the return train at 3:35 a.m., severe thunderstorms bore down on the Red River Valley and a tornado was spotted near Hawley. I was at a good friend’s house and we rode out the storm in her basement. At my mom’s senior apartment complex, my oldest brother spent an hour in the first-floor hallway with some 40 freaked-out elderly women. I doubt he’ll soon forget that experience.

My youngest brother in Fargo, who was sleeping and oblivious to the impending doom until I called to tell him to run for cover, lost some trees but was otherwise OK.

Once again, it could’ve been worse.

Then came the trip home on Amtrak.

After spending three hours in the pre-dawn at the Fargo station while they cleared storm debris from the tracks in the Detroit Lakes, Minn., area, we boarded and were rerouted on a busy freight line to Minot, N.D. because of the flooding in the Devil’s Lake, N.D., area. At roughly 20 to 30 miles per hour, it took more than eight hours to travel the 230 miles to Minot.

I was plenty perturbed and not in the greatest mood when the good Lord and a peppy Amtrak dining attendant plopped me down at a lunch table with a young couple from Joplin, Mo., to put things in perspective.

As we shared a meal I learned they’d lost everything in the recent tornado that had ravaged their town. They were relocating to Portland with little more than the clothes on their backs. He’d find a job while she got her master’s in urban development. They’d been saving money for two years to move somewhere else, and the devastation just accelerated their plans.

The young couple had acquaintances who died in the Joplin tornado. Several family members’ homes were destroyed. Thankfully, their family survived.

As they emerged from the rubble, they were struck by the closets left standing in dozens of homes that were otherwise destroyed.

“It’s true what they say,” the young woman said. “The closet is the safest place.”

Even though they’d lost everything, they still had each other and a chance for a future.

I arrived in Whitefish some nine and a half hours late, tired but otherwise unscathed. I’d caught the last train before Amtrak shut down its Empire Builder route for several days because of the flooding in North Dakota. I felt lucky, and once again those powerful words crossed my mind.

It could be worse.

Features editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or by email at lhintze@dailyinterlake.com.