How Cold is it Mr. Fox?

It is minus 33 degrees Celsius. Combine that with the wind speed it is equivalent to minus 47 in my part of the world.

I remember it being about minus 50 degrees about 25 years ago.  That was the time the rotor on the vehicle literally snapped off with a huge clang and a spurt as the motor came to a cold and grinding stop.

It is hard to image what people did  in the past or why they even did it in order to survive in this part of the world of such extreme weather conditions. 

What is it about this area that people have persevered with coping with the fact that if one left the shelter of their homes they would easily die just by the doing of it?  No wild animal attack, no rebel militia hunting them down, no poisonous gases or steep cliffs or torrential rains to sweep them away.  Just the simple turning of a door knob and the stepping away from the shelter for  even less than 10 minutes could determine one's  quick and surprisingly pain free demise.

Actually the pain would only begin when , and if , one returns to the warmth of the shelter. As toes and fingers begin to thaw there is a deep and burning itch which accompanies the deicing of human tissue . This discomfort can only be compared to  that which occurs when one finds that the zipper on the one piece snow suit one has unwisely donned is 'caught'* and the beads of sweat start forming not only along your hairline but also starts to roll down the your spine as you struggle and twist and bite your tongue trying to get the *#(&# thing to pull down.  Combine this with the inevitable consequence of  the condensation caused call of Nature that  occurs the moment one feels the indoor  warmth  and the panic filled realization that the socially acceptable conclusion is not probable within the next five minutes, makes the returning to the warmth of home and hearth almost as stressful and dangerous as the going out in the first place.


Things that I KNOW I have froze during my 60 years on the prairies are:

1. My ear. ..age 4...consequence of hat not being put on my head good 'nuff by my older sister.

2. My fingers....woolen mitts just do NOT do it for
-40 degrees.

3. My toes...consequence of curling on natural ice with just school shoes on during a day long high school bonspeil.  There were tears that day as I placed my feet against the heater of the vehicle on the way home--which in hindsight was NOT a good idea.

4. My whole body almost got really cold when the little truck ran out of gas on a Saturday night in January.  Good thing I was in town and not on our country road on the way home.  (pre CB radios, pre cell phones).

Cold Weather First Aid

* The rule of the stuck zipper is that the amount of liquid consumed prior to the going out is directly proportional to the amount of material caught in the track.

Bird's Eye View

Sometimes I think it would be great to be a bird--
flying here and there. Never seemingly to get cold even when it is minus 30 degrees. Swooping up and down. Spying and checking out various spots in the area for random food sources such as an abandoned dog dish, garbage bag left unattended, or  some juicy frozen (in the winter)/half cooked (in the summer) road kill.

Aside from the obvious dining advantages resulting from being able to fly, one could also glean much information regarding the habits and lifestyles of strangers as well as acquaintances within the variable unlimited limitations of free flight.

I think it would be 'flightfully' delightful this cold and blustery January day to be able to swoop down and peek randomly into the windows of  friends and neighbours.

 I could maybe see a friend as they sat and watched their favourite soap opera, or another as they played and cuddled with their newly wakened from a nap toddler with rosy cheeks and smiley disposition. Perhaps I would hear singing and music playing as someone prepares for their choir practice.  A few flight miles further  might allow me  to spy on a shut-in as they sit and read a card from a far away loved one. Still further I could watch a hairdresser busy cutting and shaping a client's hair with the skill and quickness of a seasoned professional.

If I approached a school yard right now I probably would see hundreds of colourfully dressed youngsters in parkas , mitts, and toques as they line up to climb onto exhaust spewing school buses for their respective rides home. 

I probably would see some office people at work sitting at a desk with a word processor, and still others idly talking on the phone discussing the weather, plans for the future, family activities, and future vacations to warmer climes.

Yes, sometimes  I think it would be nice to be a bird ...even if I did have to lay an egg once in a while, lose all my feathers, and live in a tree.
 I wouldn't have to worry about going to a dentist.  There wouldn't be any worry about going through security before a  flight. 

 There may be something really good about the fact that it is a rare bird that can 'peck' out any information on a keyboard especially if one keeps in mind  that age old saying that "a little birdie told me".  Those seemingly air borne innocents may know more than we like to think or even want to admit. 

I think I might just close my curtains now and get a cat.

The 'Stuff' of Buffets

If winter means dangerously cold temperatures, high level of snowfall, and dire driving conditions , then my area of the world is experiencing winter in every sense of the word.

If winter, indeed, can also be described in how much wood one has burned so far this wood burning season, then the fact that more wood has been burned (three bin fulls in fact) than any other winter since the commencement of wood burning began in terms of our home heating arrangement.

If winter can be described as a time to stay indoors and hunker down with homemade meals with baked bread and red wine, then that means we have had much in the terms of experiencing the season.

With that in mind, one can perhaps readily understand why we ventured out on a warmish  (-9 Celsius) Sunday afternoon to partake of a Chinese Buffet we had heard about  in a neighbouring town about a half hour's drive from home.  The first outing for no reason we had taken for about a month.

We drove down main street of this small town and spied the restaurant almost immediately, as it was the only building where there were three cars parked.  The verification of our correctness was the sign on the outside that simply read "Buddy's" with a 7up symbol beside it. 

There was a group of five ladies 'of a certain age' sitting at a long table watching our entrance as we knocked snow off our boots, took off our frost covered glasses, and looked for a place to be seated.

Under these watchful eyes we chose an arborite covered table (we had the choice of sitting at one with decoupaged pictures of horses on a pine board) by the windows and informed the server that we would be taking part in the buffet.  The plates for the buffet were plastic, the utensils were 'real', meaning they were metal, and the coffee was served in a cup with a spoon already sitting in it.

The food was at best 'OK'. Considering we got there about 5 minutes after the buffet had started  it seemed to be cold, over cooked, and over fried.  Not surprisingly, there was quite a bit of food to be had as all during my time there I saw no one go back for seconds.
  The service was good as the coffee and ice water we asked for arrived even before we had time to go to the buffet table to fill our plates. Although the only difference between the iced water and the coffee we were served was that the water was colder than the coffee, and the coffee was a bit browner. 

As there was no ambiance music to help muffle the usual sounds one finds in restaurants such as chewing, coughing, clinking and scraping of utensils, coffee slurping, and conversation, we were able to experience the eating out sounds to their fullest. 

After the excitement of our arrival leveled off, the conversation of the ladies at the only other occupied table returned to the mundane.  Topics such as snow shoveling, home care foods and the debate which followed over their value and tastiness. 

 The discussion of whether the local hospital would reopen in spite of the mold took some minutes to consider and almost sparked an argument. We could feel the tension rise as one interrupted the statement of another.  For just a smack of a moment there was a sense that not all the chilliness was coming from the outside.


We sat and ate the food that was good and left that which wasn't.  As we were approaching the end of our meal, one of the attendees at the other table burst out into a series of at least 30 continuous sneezes. This outburst, of course, brought the topic of conversation around to allergies. The topic of allergies, naturally therefore, brought  the conversation  to the fact that one of the other ladies accidentally found out that her sewer was leaking  'stuff' (her word) into her dirt basement. She described the 'stuff' that was coming out around the edges of the pipe, and how she had to call the repairman, and how nice he was to come fix the pipe from leaking that 'stuff' the very same day and how he didn't even charge her because he was working for the Town that day. 

My husband went to pay the bill. As I downed the last of the coffee and wiped  my lips with a paper serviette from the dispenser, I thought of how much I appreciate having as many serviettes as I want whenever I eat out. 


As we drove home across the snowy countryside through our summer camping area, my husband leaned over and put his hand on my knee and said, "Thanks for coming out with me today."                              

 

 

 

 

The 'stuff ' of a great meal is more than the food or the place.

Winter Heating

This is what one must do in order to survive in January on the

Canadian Prairies if one doesn't use Natural Gas, Oil, or Electricity

 to heat their house.

                      
 About once a week, after one has chosen what one believes to be a warmer day than the rest, one starts hauling seasoned poplar wood from the the wood shed to the house.  The wood has been sitting drying in the shed for about  2 to 3 years, although there are probably some sticks seasoned for as long as 6.

   The camera has caught the moisture condensation from our breath as it hits the cold air.

 If you look at the top of the partition you can see the wood piled up on  other side of the bin--next year's cache,  if it doesn't get used before this winter's end. 

 Those sticks at the very top are dangerous as sometimes they fall down onto the wood gatherer without warning. Ouch! 

 One of probably eight loads of wood to be hauled into the house.

The nicely blown path had to be made before the wood hauling was even begun.

Note the thermometer on the outside of the house. When the needle is straight up it shows 0 degrees Celsius.  In this picture it hovers around minus 24.  With the wind chill the temperature today is approaching minus 40 degrees Celsius. I have seen it at 30 degrees Celsius.

 The wood is thrown  through an opening into the basement of the house for storage and easy access for splitting and burning. 

 There is quite a bit of clunking and banging while the wood is being thrown into this space.  No sleeping goes on while this chore is being done.

 This is the inside storage area.  One can feel the coldness from the frozen wood for about two to three days  After that time one may find that a few flies and/or mosquitoes have been awakened from their hiding places in the bark by the warmth of the house. It seems strange to complain of a buzzing mosquito in the bedroom on a frigid January night, but it does happen.

 View of the  winter wood getting process from the warmth and safety of the house.

 In order to get the wood to start on a bed of coals the coals first  must be stirred.  This involves the use of a bent piece of iron.  The assuring sound of this stirring is actually comforting in the middle of  a cold winter's night whenever the stove needs refilling.  The comfort of  hearing this  metal clanging sound may be due to the fact that if I am awakened by this sound then it must mean it is not I who is actually out of bed putting the wood in the stove

Depending upon the outside temperature and the dryness of the wood, one has to empty the Ash Pan about every three to five days.

*Please note Bunny Chair for reference below.

 Ashes are safely disposed of in a metal barrel..and not so safely covered with a piece of plywood as seen resting in the snow. (Note to amateurs: It is not a good idea to store garbage  on top out of reach of animals even for a short time unless of course one LIKES barbecued trash.)

  The emptied Ash Pan being returned to its place under the Firebox.


The next step in the Home Heating process is the careful selection, measurement and stacking of this varied and often awkward solid fuel.

Removal of storage room door for easy wood access.

Scientific measurement of extra long looking pieces. (Two knot holes from the door jam--too long.)

Note the height of the pile of wood.

 

Another stick destined for the camping pile.

 

This process may also involve obligatory splitting of the larger sticks. This  process used to be done by hand with an  axe for about six to eight hours a week. The purchase of  a splitting machine has decreased this time to about one hour a week.  The homemade Bunny Chair is optional but does fit into the theme of self sufficiency in spite of the fact that the Splitter is electrical.

And now the final step of Filling the Stove.

The flaming of a piece of wood while one is still loading the stove is a true sign that it is very cold outside.--Note the orange tongue on that piece along the edge.

                            That piece barely passed the measurement test.

Sometimes it takes the hand of a master to get just the right amount of wood packed in.

Before

After

“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.” — Robert A. Heinlein