As winter approaches, I don’t pay it a lot of mind. My place stays warm, and my vehicles have no trouble operating in the cold weather. Really, just walking from my door to my car or truck is about the only time winter affects me now.
But things weren’t always thus. As a kid growing up on the mountain, the coming of winter was very much dreaded. Cutting, hauling, and splitting wood was of utmost importance, and the goal was to pile up enough to get you all the way through the season. Once cold weather arrived, we never let the fire go out in our Ashley wood-burning heater, so carrying in wood, stoking the flames, and carrying out ashes was non-stop.
Heating lamps were a necessity. Before we had pigs and electricity, it didn’t matter. But once we had both, keeping the pump from freezing and the newborn piglets warm was a top priority. I can remember stuffing insulation around the pumphouse walls and running extension cords for that big red light with the metal funnel around it. The same for the little wooden sheds we had for the sows and their litters.
None of the cars we ever owned wanted to start on cold mornings. Mom would wake me often when she had to go to work, and I’d lift the hood and spray ether in the carburetor, and that would do the trick. And scraping the ice off the windshield was a daily task. I was surprised this was not an issue in Milwaukee. I assumed since the winters were longer and colder, scraping ice would be inevitable, but the dry climate there means you never have to. Snow—yes, but not ice.
We could never put on confortable clothes in the winter because there was no way of knowing when you might have to run outside in the cold, sometimes freezing rain, and sometimes snow and ice. We were always having to go out to get groceries out of the car, bring in firewood, tape insulation around water pipes, or turn the antenna. That metal pole was mighty cold when it was frosted over. I’m glad no one ever triple-dog-dared me to stick my tongue to it.
Sleeping in a room with no heat is an experience I hope to never relive. Huddled under almost a dozen worn blankets and quilts kept my body alive, but I’m pretty sure my face and nose were dead. The only testament to life was the thick cloud of mist that billowed out with each breath.
Young folks today might complain about winter, but oh, they have no idea what a poor mountain winter really is.