When you think of April, you think of trees budding, grass beginning to turn green, flowers starting to poke out of the ground and bloom, farmers getting into their fields to prepare for Spring Planting and the first days you’re able to open the windows and let the fresh warm spring air in after a long winter. Mother Nature had other ideas on April 8th-10th 1973 when a freak blizzard raged across the state.
The NAO (North Atlantic Oscillation) and the AO (Arctic Osscillation) had been positive to begin the month of April 1973, but it quickly went negative allowing cold air to rush southward into the northern portions of the country. 
A low pressure center formed over northwestern Arkansas and quickly moved north northeastward to near Keokuk by Monday Morning the 9th. Along with the slightly weaker 1032mb High over northwestern Ontario, winds between that and the 992mb low at Keokuk brought winds of 50-70mph across the state with the heavy wet snow.
The storm began to fill as it continued moving northeast and with the high pressure weakening over Ontario, the winds began to lighten across the state. The snow ended across the state Monday night into Tuesday morning but what was left in its wake was mind boggling.
SNOW TOTALS: Some of the totals included 19.2″ at Dubuque (then a record for largest snowstorm on record), 19″ at Grundy Center, 20.2″ at Belle Plaine (the largest total from storm), Waucoma 16″ New Hampton, Harcourt, Elkader and Decorah 15″, Parkersburg and Cascade at 14″, Clutier, Mason City, Shell Rock and Cresco at 13″ Des Moines 12″ (13.8″ for the entire system), Cedar Rapids, Indianola, Knoxville, Creston, Corydon, Northwood and Popejoy 12″, Osage, Fayette, Clarence, Mount Ayr, Zearing and Gilman 11″, Waterloo, Conrad and Hubbard at 10″ Lamoni and Ottumwa 9″. The northwestern and far southeastern counties of the state were spared with little or no snow, (far SE Iowa got over an inch of rain with very little snow). Waterloo and Des Moines broke their April Snowfall records at the time with 10.3″ and 15.1″ respectively, (Des Moines’ record would be broken in 1982 with 15.6″)
14 were reported as killed by Wednesday as the digging out began. Several of the victims had died from heart attacks in relation to shoveling or plowing the heavy wet snow. People weren’t the only victims of the blizzard, several thousand cattle and calves along with an estimated 120,000 Turkey Poults also died in the storm. Even those that had survived, farmers feared that with the quick melting of the snow, more would end up getting sick and or die due to the amount of mud that was expected to be left after the snow had melted.
As quickly as the snow fell, it melted with some areas having seen all their snow melted away by Tuesday evening. Example in Corning in Adams County where 6″ of snow fell and melted off leading to a soggy mess on many of the county roads there. Roads were clogged for several days with several roads blocked by drifts over 14 feet tall in some areas (especially northeast Iowa) Iowa State and the University of Northern Iowa were closed both Monday and Tuesday due to the storm while the University of Iowa in Iowa City continued to hold classes (due to much less snow there)
People that were left stranded by the storm went where they could and slept where they could, in restaurants, farmhouses, service stations, community buildings. Cars were stranded for days on the interstates which made clearing the snow even more challenging than it already was with the heavy wet snow and two story like drifts. Within a few days, temperatures quickly warmed, the snow melted and it was back to opening windows and waiting for trees to bud and flowers to bloom. 
If anyone has any memories of the Blizzard of 1973 please comment below or email them to [email protected]
It is of note, a certain Groundhog that year did see his shadow and said there would be 6 more weeks of winter.
For my birthday I had the same wish that most children do – to have the day off school. I got my wish! We’d never had snow on my birthday in the first 10 years of my life, but for my 11th, I got it. What was crazier than the snow were the drifts because we had so much wind. In some cases you could climb right up a drift to touch the roof of houses, and the chain link fence in our back yard was buried – you could walk over it! I also wished that my stepfather would be home for my birthday – he was sent out of town by Honeywell for work. Well, he came home rather than reaching his destination. Unfortunately, the car did not. He stopped to help two stranded older women and his car was hit too. When they plowed our street, the just pushed it onto one side, with snow piled up over 4 feet high. We had lots of fun playing in it, and it took days to melt. Forty years later and I live in Minnesota and it looks like an April storm is on the way. But this time I lucked out – I am in Mexico! Ha!
To experience a blizzard when your are 12 is awesome. Not so much for the grown ups as I would later find out enduring more blizzards as I grew older, but those 5 days home from school and the continuous sledding, building snowmen, the humoungous fort we built in the yard and yes, snowball fights with the brothers supplied some great “back in the old days” memories. You see, because back then kids actually played outside. I lived across the street from Union Park in Des Moines, and we could walk out on our elevated front yard directly over E. 9th Street without going downhill because the street was level with our yard. The park provided the best sledding hill and we took advantage of that snow and the fun it provided. Those were the days.
We lived in Coon Rapids, in west-central Iowa, where we raised and bred cattle. I was 13, and it was the height of calving season. The blizzard was shocking in its unseasonableness, it’s suddenness, and it’s severity.
Calves were being born into the deep snow and tearing wind, exposed in the pasture to die a certain death.
Hardy volunteers were rallied, going out into the blizzard by snowmobile searching for calves in the poor visibility. The local car wash was commandeered with big space heaters set up. For 3 days, with little sleep, my family, their employees and even their families tried to rub the crusted snow off hypothermic calves, tubing them with warmed colostrum (milk), working to revive them.
Ultimately, we lost 80% of our calf crop, and I don’t know how many mature cattle. We had tied colored yarn around their hooves so we knew which pasture they had come from, but even then reuniting the surviving calves with their dam was nigh impossible, so all our breeding records were lost as well.
My mother remembers that along with the numerous dead cows and calves, there was the bizzare disappearance of 45 cows in one pasture. When the deep drifts of 12-14 feet finally melted a couple weeks later, we found them. They had clustered together for warm on the leeward side of a hill, out of the wind, where the thick snow had buried the lot in a tall drift, suffocating them all.
I have no memory of the joy of being let out of school, nor of the wonderous power of an all-out blizzard. I only remember the grim urgency of crisis, the cold, tired men layered in snow suits and hoods and scarves bringing in stiff newborn calves, of the hours of rubbing down those few stiff calves we were lucky enough to find.
That was my Blizzard of April, 1973.