North Dakota Winter Isn’t Cold—It’s the Wind That Breaks You
Who am I trying to fool? Of course, North Dakota is cold as hell. Cold and windy. A combination that North Dakotans learn to defeat almost from birth.
Is it windy in North Dakota? Yes! Yes, and again yes. In winter exclusively.
Out of roughly six months of winter, I’ve seen maybe two—maybe three—days of brutal cold with no wind. Those days feel sacred. Like a gift from the Great Plains. As if the land itself took mercy on us.
“It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the wind.”
That’s what North Dakotans say while trying to make it to their destination.
The wind is here to challenge you. To humble you. To gently remind you that you are not immortal, not a bird—even if it occasionally makes you feel you could fly.
And yet—life continues.
Delivery drivers show up. Oilfield workers clock in. Schools stay open. People need to run errands. No matter if it’s minus 20, 40, or 50 with 60-mile-an-hour winds. No matter if it is a blizzard. North Dakotans carry on. The only common goal is simple:
Walk from the parking lot to the building without losing your dignity.
This is where local skills come in. From Birth, North Dakotans learn three essential abilities:
Walking
Cursing
Defeating the wind between the car and the destination
I’ve seen people walk from the parking lot to bars as if it were nothing. The real North Dakota skill is the return trip—getting from the bar to the cab, slightly drunk, heavily wind-slapped, and somehow still upright.
They didn’t learn that skill in a course. They earned it after years of practice.
The wind doesn’t just blow. It pushes hard with a strength that briefly makes you question whether you’re human—or some confused bird attempting to walk upright.
Now add ice. A thick, glossy, deceptively beautiful layer of ice.
Going to the mall becomes an extreme sport. Not because of shopping. But because of the performance required in the parking lot: walking calmly, pretending you’re centered and dignified, while the wind shoves you sideways like a teenager demanding independence.
You slide, recover, and curse (quietly at first, then louder).
You do not look back.
Once inside the mall, the ritual begins: repeating the most common North Dakota phrase—
“F… the wind,” over and over, while Christmas music cheerfully insists it’s the most wonderful time of the yearrrr. La la laaaa.
My boots, though. They do their jobs. They keep my feet warm, dry, and upright.
No humiliation in the parking lot. My feet survived, even while the rest of my body negotiated with the wind like it had a personal vendetta against me.
When I arrived in North Dakota, I used to wear two, maybe three, layers. Which seemed reasonable. Until the wind showed me that it didn’t care how many layers I wore.
At some point, every North Dakotan learns the truth: boots matter, but what you wear underneath decides whether you enjoy the day—or silently regret all your life choices.
My underneath wool leggings are my winter secret. They are soft, insulating, and far more effective than they appear. My wool long-sleeve base layer is the quiet hero—thin, warm, and the reason the wind doesn’t win completely.
Once inside the building? Everything thaws.
Malls, homes, schools—North Dakota knows how to heat buildings. Warm. Comfortable, and Civilized.
You just have to make it there:
alive
walking, not carried away by the wind
with dignity mostly intact
And honestly?
Those four minutes from car to door are unforgettable. Challenging. Almost fun. The thing you laugh about later—once your face can move again.
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