Just about anyone who has lived in a home with just a wood stove for heat knows the feeling. Some one would roll out of bed and start the stove before the others would rise. There would be a mad dash for a warm spot to get dressed for the day.  One side of the body would be nice and toasty, but the other side would be freezing. You would wish for a slowly turning spot to keep the whole body warm. As a youngster in the early 50’s there was not any heat in our upstairs bedroom. I had a big fur coat for a blanket. But there were nights that this just did not seem to keep me warm. It seemed that the more I curled up in that coat, the more the cold snuck in to bite me. When the sun finally came out and the call came for breakfast it was time to move. It was about that same time the body became warm. Maybe it was the thought the sun was out or the promise of warm oatmeal. I would grab my clothes and try to dress while covered with that coat. Then, there was the mad dash for the stairs and stand next to the stove. We didn’t need any thermometers to tell us it was cold outside.

There were frost spots on all of the nails that poked through the roof. The size of the frost spots sort of told us how cold it was outside. Then it was get ready to walk to school. If school was in session, we went without any doubt what-so-ever.  Some mornings, about the only thing that showed was our eyes as we walked the two miles to school.  But this was the 50’s and that is how it went.  Even when we moved to the farm in Livermore Falls, we had only wood stoves for central heat.  But we had two stoves and that helped heat the farmhouse. There was still that walk to catch the school bus though. During the cold months, we just forgot about the walk and stayed home. It was when we moved to Rangeley that going to school was a lot easier.  I could see the school from my window. The walk was a nice easy walk and I hardly missed any days. We still had a wood stove for heat, but the house was always nice and warm. It wasn’t until the 60’s that I began to notice the beauty of that fresh fallen snow. There were of course days working in the woods, one would grumble about the snow. Then there were other days driving the skidder on Elephant mountain I would come upon a scene that seemed to be meant just for me. I knew just as soon as I drove down that road it would be different. I learned then to just stop a moment to soak in the beauty. This beauty would help to offset by those forty below zero days. It was not unusual to see these temperatures a week at a time. The third or fourth day, the equipment just refused to start. It seemed as though every bone in the body would get cold. But, if the skidder didn’t move, then no money was earned that day. The family still needed to eat so the body pushed on to get some wood out. As luck would have it, I retired from working in the woods and went into carpentry. My body still remembers those bone chilling days though. Every chance I got I would create windows in my house to let that sun come roaring in. I most surely suffered sunlight deprivation. But, as a carpenter, I made one rule about the house.  Never be cold again. I didn’t care if we burned the kitchen table. I could make another. Anything that was made out of wood could keep us warm. Now today, I have a sunroom and a greenhouse on the south side of my house. I get to sit in the sun and enjoy the beauty that winter does indeed bring.  In the old days, all I could do was file those scenes in my mind. Today, I can go about with my digital camera and take pictures of those beauties. I would watch that ice laden tree and wait for the perfect time. As the sun peeks over the trees, they would light as a candle on fire to a blazing white. Eventually they would be gone. But I learned to stop and watch. Mother nature would create the perfect picture if I stood there long enough. I would still get cold, but it was an option not a must. Because I do not have to work in the snow, I can now take the time to enjoy the snows of Rangeley. I still have the woodstove and at times get it a nice hot cherry red.  But it is now more or less a memory refresher. I no longer have to wrap up in that coat while living in Strong. I don’t have to dash downstairs to get the kitchen stove going for morning coffee in Livermore Falls.  I don’t have to get up early to deliver papers about Rangeley in the knee-deep snow. I can now sit here in my sunroom and tell Mother Nature….”let er snow”.  “Shall I pour you a cup of coffee while we watch?”

Ken White   mountainman

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