Kathleen McQuillan

I’m buried under four layers of covers. First, a forty-year-old lightly-tattered quilt given to me by my sister-in-law for a wedding gift. Not much to look at but it was handmade by her grandmother, now honored for its sentimental value. Under that, a heavy, olive green wool army blanket that I inherited. I pull it out just for nights like this. Next layer, another handmade quilt found at the Cook Thrift Shop a long time ago. A treasure. And on top of all that, a down comforter upon which “me pup,” Duffy, nestles up tight against the fetal curve of my spine. He’s happy to offer the added comfort of his little warm body. It doesn’t get any better than this on a minus thirty degree morning.
It’s way before dawn. The house is still pitch black. I’m not ready to peel the covers back yet. So, I linger, cozy in the stillness, listening. There is the low humming of tinnitus in my ears. I’m not concerned. It’s been there so long I’ve forgotten what true silence sounds like. What I’m not hearing is the usual tick and crackle from the wood stove. That usually means it’s burnt down to ashes and coals. I place my hand outside the blankets. A chill hovers over the bed, my cue. It is time to rise. When temps reach thirty below outdoors, enjoying the refuge of bed for too much longer will assure the misery of a cold house, or worse. Winter living in my cabin has taught me that survival depends on keeping the wood stove well-stoked.
I’m up and ready to face “another beautiful day in paradise,” as the saying goes. But you have to be vigilant. As the fire dies, the cold creeps in. And once the logs cool down, it takes a long time to get the house cozy again. Glory be that I’ve got a good supply of dry wood to keep me from an imagined catastrophe. Heavy curtains hanging from floor to ceiling on every window (just a necessary part of my decor) also help. If you slip your hand behind them, you instantly feel the bitter cold just beyond those thin panes of glass.
My instinct is to whip open the curtains for some sorely needed light but I’ll be damned if I do that. I must wait for the sun to come up and do its holy work of raising the outside air temp to tolerable. For now, I’ll grab my Extendo BBQ lighter and light every propane lamp in the house, not just for light but as another source of heat to reach the furthermost corners of the house. They help soften that bone-chilling air until my trusty Free Flow stove starts radiating its steady current of hot air. With a few sticks of kindling and some small chunks of birch still wearing a few patches of their papery bark, and a flick from my Extendo, Duffy and I are assured a healthy shot at northern comfort. The house’ll be warm before the coffee’s done dripping.
I love freshly roasted and ground coffee. The old flour mill has come in handy for that. After thirty-four turns of the cast iron handle the beans are perfect for brewing. Once they’re ground and the water’s on to boil, I can heed Duffy’s muffled “whoof” at my feet. He’s hungry after the long dark night. No signs that he’s ready to go outside for the tortuous trek down the driveway, with the cold wind quickly forming frost on his whiskers. I’m in awe of his ability to relieve himself in what I’d guess is record time. He knows the score and dreads it!
The sun is up now. The thermometer should begin to rise. My weather app says it’s moved from -30 degrees to -25. Oh, good. The high today, It’s telling me might reach -18, if we’re lucky! The experts call this a “cold snap.” They’re forecasting a short break possible in two days but then “dropping back down for another bout of dangerous conditions.” The kind of weather we all know — one false move could mean you’re dead.
Dangerous weather isn’t reserved just for us. More and more Americans are experiencing weather calamities. Back-to-back hurricanes, record-breaking floods and raging forest fires, are only some of the climate-related catastrophes we’ve witnessed. The difference with our weather extremes is that ours are a matter of fact. We expect them. We try to prepare. Look at us! We live for months with extra blankets and “survival kits” in our backseats. But we also are aware that no one can cover all the bases all the time. Bad things still can happen. And no one can deny the psychological impact when up against Nature’s awesome power to bring us to our knees. We get knocked off balance when these events are happening more often, unpredictably and with greater intensity. Perhaps there are meaningful lessons in this. One might be, never to take this precious and fragile existence for granted. Remind ourselves that this life is but a gift, one for which we should give thanks, make the most of, and then give back. So my final thoughts are these. Take care. Notice. Share, and help others. Oh, and by the way, Stay warm!