When I was living in the log cabin on the other side of the mountain, alone, (in the 70s) we had about 5 days of -40 F. weather. NOTHING would work, except what I managed to keep around my wood stove and coal stove I had back then. I could bring in my car battery and keep it warm, but even if/when the car started, wheels don't like to turn and gears don't like to shift in that coldness! School was called off, thank god, or I couldn't have gone anyway.
I drained my water pipes and put antifreeze in the traps, and set up a double-decker camp cot in the kitchen near the stove so I could sleep up near the ceiling where it was always about 20 degrees warmer than at floor level. I set my alarm to get up to feed the fires every couple of hours! A Coleman gasoline stove I used to heat snow for drinking water and coffee, and to heat up something to eat. And I also kept a warm pot of melted snow on top of the coal stove.
That was the first (out of only two times) I tried the old test to see if hot coffee would turn to ice before it hit the ground out in the yard......AND IT DID!!! If you toss it high enough, it will come down as ice! I had to do it several times because I couldn't believe my eyes before I got too cold to stay out there!
But I will never forget the satisfaction of being able to go back into that warm little haven and know that I was alive only by my own efforts, and was safe against the extreme cold. There was a full moon, too, with an icy halo around it, and being out there that night was when I wrote the following poem. I know I have sent it before, but every winter it goes through my head as I travel in and out carrying firewood! And I modify it a bit each year, it seems! I am including both of my names now, as I began it when I was Martineau.
CHRISTMAS EVE AT 40 BELOW
How cold it is outside tonight,
How crunchy, crispy cold.
A snow has fallen, soft and light,
Upon the fall of old.
The brilliant moon above the pine
Gives snowy shapes below
A glist’ning, sparkling, silv’ry shine;
The very air’s a-glow.
The trees and shrubs are cased in rime;
My breath becomes a cloud.
The earth’s asleep this wint’ry time
And stillness rings out loud.
What is it now for what I yearn,
Alone this Christmas Eve,
As to the snow and ice I turn
From warmth of cabin eave?
While on my cabin porch I pause
to listen in the cold,
I ask the moon about the cause
Of wars, of hate, of getting old.
Perhaps a promise from the skies
I seek this Christmas season…
Yet here, before my eyes, it lies,
Defying depths of reason.
The lilac bush is steely cold;
A sprig of buds I borrow.
Beneath their shells the secret’s told:
The lilacs of tomorrow.
Susan Martineau/Lavigne
Apostle Islands Sea Caves
12 years ago
