The Winter of our Discontent
It's official. The thrill of winter has passed. Starting the woodstove first thing every morning--and all the preliminaries that go with it--has become mindless drudgery as the woodpile at the edge of the yard shrinks under its tarp, dwindling to nothing like the Wicked Witch of the West. White no longer represents purity and a fresh start. Silk longjohns are claustrophia-inducing and I gag at the thought of one more cup of hot chocolate. This morning, even the dog doesn't want to go outside in the ice after his first harrowing pitstop earlier--I thought I was going to have to belly walk out into the glassy yard with a liferope and have pull me and the dog back to firm footing (and more coffee). More ice is coming. It's raining bullfrogs. Make that polar bears.
We had a brief respite from the bitter cold Wednesday, so I was going to unload the wood I had cut the week before in town while seeing my Friday patient. Maybe it was water in the gas, I dunno. As I was pulling up into the driveway to turn around, the engine stalled and wouldn't restart. And there I sat, dead in the road, but on level if not solid ground and unfortunately on the curve in front of the house. I ran and threw my jacket in the road so the mailman would know to slow way, way down and ran back to push the truck out of the road. Yeah, right. Heavy truck, half ton of firewood, slushy traction underfoot and a deconditioned desk jockey pushing a driverless Dodge Dakota. The resistable force and the unmoveable object. A hernia waiting to happen. I tried the engine again. It was sounding like the battery didn't have enough juice to turn it over. Sigh. What would McGiver do?
So I unloaded the truck right there into the front yard thinking at least that would be a thousand pounds less to push. Stick by ice-covered stick (stick=a length of field cut wood, may be 6" or more in diameter and up to 100# or more) I drug the wood out of the truck bed and piled it between the HeresHome sign and the mailbox. My gloves were soaked, and with the anxiety and hurry, so were my clothes by the time I was done.
When the truck was finally empty--the moment of truth. The truck was a thousand pounds lighter but in the slush, the coefficient of friction under my boots remained near zero, so the truck was a fixture in the middle of the road around a blind bend. It was about time for the mailman. He would either hit the truck, or help me push it out of the way. Or both. In that order. But, just to go through the motions, I would try cranking it one last time. I held the ignition on for much longer than I would have, thinking "what could it hurt". It fired. Of course.
So, after letting the engine run for ten minutes, I reloaded all the wet, icy wood back where it had just come from, pulled down to my reserve woodpile beyond the garden, and unloaded it. Again. Winter deja vue. Wonderful exercise. Bah, humbug.
Its Friday again. My patient called yesterday to cancel because his road was impassable. Harumph. Our road, yesterday a frozen luge run, today becomes the kayak agility course with the flooding plus melting snow. Winter storm warnings AND flash flood warnings today. Something for everyone!
I think I need a vacation. South of here.
Comments
Hang tough buddy, spring is right around the corner...
Posted by: ronbailey | February 6, 2004 7:31 AM
Gee, were we not 1000 miles apart, I would have liked to have come watch the man go through the frantic motions. It's a grin, reading about it--not so much, doing it. Sorry for your travails; but, what an opportunity for your blog! (Have one more cup of hot cocoa for me, Fred. Never too much!)
Posted by: Cop Car | February 6, 2004 7:36 AM
We aren't 200 miles apart, and YOU get winter and we get rain. I'd rather have snow than ice, but I can imagine that it gets claustrophobic down in that snug little holler.
Posted by: travelertrish | February 6, 2004 7:51 AM
It'll be in the 60's here today. I'm just sayin' . . . .
Posted by: Trey | February 6, 2004 7:59 AM
It's 30 degrees here.
Freezing rain has decorated the trees and roads with glare ice.
Walking down to the deer feeder, I tread on ice-coated leaves that like crunch like brittle pieces of candy.
Darkness looms to the southwest of us, so I expect more of Fred's bad weather for the next few days.
Stay dry. It's too early to discard the thermal underwear.
Posted by: David | February 6, 2004 9:00 AM
Thanks, Trish, for the attitude-adjustment poem.
To which I replied:
I have had but today do not have the mind of winter.
The branches--especially the lithe and deceptively vulnerable limbs of white pines--hang lower each moment. Odds are good we'll be without power shortly. We dare not set foot outdoors in the ice, even as far as the mailbox.
Without power. I think it is the powerlessness and the inactivity; the short hours of daylight; the mono-sensory aspects to vision, sound and smell; and interminable hours under roof--that makes the second half of winter so hard to endure happily.
But I have located well for my temperament. We have real winters here. But they are short by Minnesota standards, and they do relent between storms. We'll not remember winter's ills and look forward to it again next summer, when the long, bright, color-and-fragrance filled days of wilting heat seem never to end. And the cycle goes on, and on.
Posted by: fredf | February 6, 2004 9:18 AM
I spent the entire morning busting ice on a mountaintop drive so that I could get to work. I didn't make it...the road has about an inch of ice on it and if ice isn't slick enough, add a pleasant helping of freezing rain. It's official...I am not just discontent...I just plain hate winter.
Posted by: Marie | February 6, 2004 12:15 PM
Wow, Fred, I never would have thought of the jacket gambit--that's REALLY smart! I bet it would have worked.
As to your winter doldrums, the only cure is spring, I know but what I used to do in Cambridge seemed to help--your current loathing of silk longies reminds me--I'd go take a sauna or a steam, and give myself a wicked salt scrub with a stiff brush. Really helped with that gacky, covered-in-dead-skin, smothered-pores feeling--[shudder] I remember it well! And might ease what must be very sore muscles. I feel silly, prescribing to a PT, but . . . heal thyself, etc. Such an affliction, those winters!
Posted by: Doc Rock | February 6, 2004 3:08 PM
I live on Prince Edward Island in Canada - I suspect we "share your pain"! We have had 8 days cancelled for school since Christmas because of the extreme cold and normally we have our last snow in May!
But the summer is so lovely and even more so because of the shitty time we have from November to May. PS we have mud for 3 weeks after the last snow in May. Sounds like a Monty Python sketch
Posted by: Rob Paterson | February 6, 2004 6:59 PM
Well, I'm sorry I was amused while reading the telling of your tale ... I didn't mean to smile, really, but couldn't help it. As to that "free" wood ... I think the price got a little higher! But you'll certainly enjoy burning every single stick ...
p.s. someone needs to spank trey for his contribution to this thread - such insolence is reprehensible (smile)
Posted by: ntexas99 | February 6, 2004 8:10 PM