The wind was bitter this afternoon when I took Merlot for his walk. Fall is always a difficult time in northern Vermont. The days get dangerously short--dark by 4:30pm in mid-November. And all we have to look forward to is more cold--five more months to be exact. Merlot does not care, having northern European blood in his veins.
Vermonters go nuts in Spring and Summer. They cancel their gym memberships and quit going to their Al-Anon groups and spend every waking moment outside hiking, biking, boating and picnicking. The Unitarian Churches cancel all services for the summer, either for the well-being of their parishioners who are storing up summer in their veins, or because nobody would show up anyway. There are only two months you can actually swim, though some Vermonters will swim in anything above sixty degrees. Nevertheless Vermonters buy backyard swimming pools almost as avidly as southern Californians, and Vermonters are famous for their lax attitudes toward skinny dipping.
So in Fall Vermonters gear up for their favorite methods of averting Winter Depression. The childless couple two doors down buys season lift tickets and shops for the latest fashions in ski and snowboard gear. My friend Roger sharpens up his ice skates. My friend Rob has special gloves with metal studs on the palms in case he goes through the ice on the lake, he can grip the ice and pull himself out. The older Vermonters prepare their huts for ice fishing. Giant plows go on the front of pickup trucks. Metal studded snow tires are installed on cars. Firewood is split and stacked. Long johns are unpacked from the basement. Vitamin D is consumed at a rate of 5,000 units per day per Vermonter.
My next door neighbor, Skiff, stows a wool blanket in the trunk of his car, along with a flashlight, extra batteries, three chocolate bars, a first aid kit, a bag of kitty litter, a snow shovel, space age meals-in-a-tube, matches, a hatchet, a down sleeping bag, a shotgun, an ice augur, a fishing pole, and a flare gun. Skiff loves to regale me with tales of his relatives and friends whose cars slid off the road and they froze to death just because they did not have their winter kit in their trunks. His eyes glow with the thrill that these relatives gave their lives to illustrate his passion for winter safety. He has assured me every winter that I am definitely going to be discovered somewhere pinned in my car upside down in a ravine, frozen solid as a block of ice. I asked him why he didn't include powdered water in his kit. He looked panicked for a moment, worried he hadn't thought of that before.
My winter salvation kit consists of multi-colored tulip bulbs, yellow daffodils, purple puff ball allium, tiny pale pink crocus and purple grape hyacinths--the first things to pop out of the snow in the spring. Last winter I planted my bulbs in cages so the chipmunks, squirrels, skunks, moles, voles and mice wouldn't eat them. It was the first and last time I will plant them in cages, and I sprinkled mole and vole repellant liberally around them as well, to no avail. I think the mice and chipmunks thought the cages were a game I was playing with them. A few years ago I planted a hundred bulbs and by the next morning most of them had been eaten by what Merlot thinks were skunks. The wildlife enjoys the dining experience.
I think I have a sweat shirt in the back seat of my car. I need to remember to take my cell phone with me. I should carry chocolate bars as well. How long do you think chocolate would last in my car?
Vermonters go nuts in Spring and Summer. They cancel their gym memberships and quit going to their Al-Anon groups and spend every waking moment outside hiking, biking, boating and picnicking. The Unitarian Churches cancel all services for the summer, either for the well-being of their parishioners who are storing up summer in their veins, or because nobody would show up anyway. There are only two months you can actually swim, though some Vermonters will swim in anything above sixty degrees. Nevertheless Vermonters buy backyard swimming pools almost as avidly as southern Californians, and Vermonters are famous for their lax attitudes toward skinny dipping.
So in Fall Vermonters gear up for their favorite methods of averting Winter Depression. The childless couple two doors down buys season lift tickets and shops for the latest fashions in ski and snowboard gear. My friend Roger sharpens up his ice skates. My friend Rob has special gloves with metal studs on the palms in case he goes through the ice on the lake, he can grip the ice and pull himself out. The older Vermonters prepare their huts for ice fishing. Giant plows go on the front of pickup trucks. Metal studded snow tires are installed on cars. Firewood is split and stacked. Long johns are unpacked from the basement. Vitamin D is consumed at a rate of 5,000 units per day per Vermonter.
My next door neighbor, Skiff, stows a wool blanket in the trunk of his car, along with a flashlight, extra batteries, three chocolate bars, a first aid kit, a bag of kitty litter, a snow shovel, space age meals-in-a-tube, matches, a hatchet, a down sleeping bag, a shotgun, an ice augur, a fishing pole, and a flare gun. Skiff loves to regale me with tales of his relatives and friends whose cars slid off the road and they froze to death just because they did not have their winter kit in their trunks. His eyes glow with the thrill that these relatives gave their lives to illustrate his passion for winter safety. He has assured me every winter that I am definitely going to be discovered somewhere pinned in my car upside down in a ravine, frozen solid as a block of ice. I asked him why he didn't include powdered water in his kit. He looked panicked for a moment, worried he hadn't thought of that before.
My winter salvation kit consists of multi-colored tulip bulbs, yellow daffodils, purple puff ball allium, tiny pale pink crocus and purple grape hyacinths--the first things to pop out of the snow in the spring. Last winter I planted my bulbs in cages so the chipmunks, squirrels, skunks, moles, voles and mice wouldn't eat them. It was the first and last time I will plant them in cages, and I sprinkled mole and vole repellant liberally around them as well, to no avail. I think the mice and chipmunks thought the cages were a game I was playing with them. A few years ago I planted a hundred bulbs and by the next morning most of them had been eaten by what Merlot thinks were skunks. The wildlife enjoys the dining experience.
I think I have a sweat shirt in the back seat of my car. I need to remember to take my cell phone with me. I should carry chocolate bars as well. How long do you think chocolate would last in my car?