I finally had to pull out the waterline and drain the cabin. This time of year, I stay in tune with the ten-day forecast. My belief that I could make it to November with hot indoor showers was shattered when I saw the trend toward below-freezing morning temperatures.
My limit on downside trends is twenty-five degrees Fahrenheit. That’s the spot where the outside water pump starts making slush inside the impellers, causing internal mayhem and making sounds that indicate a new pump is in order.
I shot down mid-week, grabbed my tractor, drained the camp and fixtures, and reattached a tarp to my fresh split woodpile. I also recharged my portable shower sprayer, which I used in a bucket of tepid water to spray off the residue from other chores. I still have some periods of sleep ahead with woodstove fires and silent nights, but they are few and far between after mid-November.
So, I took a road trip that had nothing to do with camp on Saturday; I’m weaning myself off the constant travel back and forth for the upcoming winter. I’ve had some withdrawal symptoms, but I’m learning to deal. I had to pick up a snowmobile part that I ordered last winter. It had been on the shelves at the dealer’s, and the pleasant lady from the desk called to see if I still wanted it. Of course, I did. I’d paid for it, but I had yet to hear it was there before the call.
Driving south of Bangor about thirty miles was a good substitute for traveling to the east. While there, I went to the local Walmart to buy some charcoal briquettes, trying to stock up for snowstorm smoking sessions on the back deck.
I’m not smoking cigarettes, just meat—mostly chicken now. I remain an avid tiny Weber kettle grill fan, so I bought two portables at Target this week. They were marked down from almost fifty bucks to thirteen dollars. I could get more than that back in scrap metal pricing. Sure, I’m trying to buy happiness, but when it’s that cheap, the smiles start at the cash register.
Even a good kid at the register, a tall lad with the personality of a happy CEO, agreed with my decision. “Wow, that’s really cheap,” he said as he ran his scanner pistol over the SKU number.
I said, “It’s cheaper than the chicken thighs I’m going to grill on it this weekend!” He liked that one. He confided that they’d been selling a lot of them; for some reason, it’s been the talk on some Facebook pages I follow. I explained that a secret society of old-school mopes, such as myself, have fled using propane to feel our inner caveman while cooking with scalded wood chunks and fire. He liked that, too.
On my way out, he said, “Hey, have fun with that. I might have to try it myself!”
That’s how you bring youngsters around to the ways of our forefathers. Don’t drive it down their throat. Suggest a change of pace, a slow down, as it were.
Now, you say, “Why two tiny grills?” Well, first of all, thirteen bucks.
Secondly, my kid, who I turned on to charcoal with taste testing and conversation this summer, would probably like to have one stored in his barn for grilling something or other.
Thirdly, if I drop one off the back deck, I won’t have to go to Amazon mid-winter to try to buy a second one for fifty bucks.
I’m pragmatic and cheap. I’ll give him one, but he has to prove he will be a good steward with it, not leaving it outside to rust, collect dust, and bust. It’s thirteen bucks for crying out loud.
As you can imagine, I am trying to wean myself from cabin thoughts. I’ll be candid with you: I don’t do all that well when I don’t have a chance to get to the camp. My partner in detectives used to explain to people when I was a big grumpy that they should leave me alone in my cubicle because I’d not been to the cabin much throughout the winter.
“Just leave him alone. You don’t know how he might react,” he’d say. Somewhat jokingly, but on another level, very serious. “He will be better in the spring,” he’d holler if interactions were less than pleasing. I’ll admit, I can get truculent without a fix of camp life. It’s ingrained in me, and I don’t care a bit what people think about using an outhouse. It’s my happy place.
The funny thing is, he bought land and built a camp north of here years later. He’s relayed to me that he now understands my former grouchy state. So much of that rubbed off on him, and he was lucky enough to move into his cabin permanently this year. My dirt road is not quite as well maintained as his, so getting in and out in the winter is much more difficult. Also, I must be close to the airport much of the winter to avoid making the Uber trips for the S.O. into a house and tax payment.
You do what you have to do to get by; if I get grouchy, you’ll most likely never notice.
Today, I am smoothing Sammy’s driveway with implements dragged behind my tractor. In turn, we will do a full service on the old girl. She needs fluids, filters, and a little greasing.
But, then again, don’t we all this time of year?
Be well.
From the Jagged Edge of America, I remain,
TC
Thanks for all your support through Buy Me A Coffee. That’s how we pay the bills and keep stocked up in cheap grills. Seriously though—I appreciate all of you. Thanks for reading the stuff. Tim Cotton