Philosophy Now

When you reach a certain degree of cold, all bets are off. What did Wilder say, "pass up the chairs." One thing I like about these new writing gloves Linda sent, is that they're not alike, the cabling is different. Eccleptopia. Nothing is what it seems. I found a trail of lobate sassafras leaves that looked like deer tracks, but they were merely leaves. We leap to assumptions because we want things to be true. After a day starting at zero, climbing to less than ten degrees, a day that starts at 20 seems almost balmy. Three goals today, shave (in a very cold house, I find the sweatshirt I surgically altered last winter), a quick run into town (I need the extra hike-in to carry supplies), and chainsaw a batch of doubles, so I have pieces that just need splitting. More snow, but it's fairly dry stuff and the roads aren't too bad. More tonight, more tomorrow, more the next day. Fortunately, we have a while to pack up the Circus Show, which might be necessary. Much worse than today and I just can't make it in. I was in 4-wheel drive the first five miles, out to Rt.125. I use 4-wheel drive much more here than I ever did in Colorado (above 6,000 feet). Picked up a couple of pot-pies, I can handle the fat in this weather and I love them, comfort food. This is brutal weather, most especially if I leave home, so the next four days will be a trial. Flushed a grouse, walking down, and it surprised me so much, wrapped as I was, and wrapped in thought, that I stumbled and almost fell. The truck was buried, and the heater has decided to not work. Runs fine, and there is that. The only vehicle I passed going out was a propane delivery truck and we both came to a complete stop, then crept by each other slowly. These are not even secondary roads, and the only set of tracks is right down the middle, because you can't really see the road, so when you do pass someone coming the other way, you have to kind of feel for the edge. With the propane truck, I end up off on the verge, but it's frozen solid and I'm in 4-wheel drive, so it's not a problem. Town is nearly clear, by comparison. Reverse the trip going home, I stop at the lake and shift into gear, feed the despondent ducks, huddled in the shelter house, and drive at a sedate 10 mph the last five miles. Passed no one, backed up into my spot, shouldered a maybe 20 pound pack. It's like that temperature thing. I'd much rather carry five 20 pound loads, than four 25 pound loads. If I'm carrying a load I stop an extra couple of times, there's always something to see. I often stop and read track, sometimes I almost understand, a story in the snow. The house is cold, but I kick the fire up and still have some cutting to do outside, and I just walked up the hill with a pack, so I'm heated, you know, warm. Hermeneutics is important, but firewood is critical. I'm just saying.