My father called a warm wind in January a Chinook Wind. It seemed like spring, but best hang tight. The wind would shift vector and catch the unwary with plummet of mercury in the thermometer and heavy wind slant snow.
Sometimes the prediction was derivative of barn animal unease. A subtle gluttony preparatory fill up the gut ahead of storm.
Such days he would say, "Don't cut across the fields from school. Stick to the roads so I can find you." Mostly his timing was right on. Bobsled filled with straw, sheep skin long coat, and a couple horse blankets. Loose rein in the white-out. Horses knew the way home.
Sometimes a hay rope between house and barn - like the November 11 storm. We had 1,500 sheep barned so tight, they went unfed three days. Drifts so high I could step over the telephone line. Dead cows from who-knew-where in shelter grove of trees. Pig buried in the straw pile, at his way out in March.