Driving Home

The low spots on Mackletree, where it's always in shade, are to be driven very carefully. I halve my speed and double the time of my commute. Listen: walking in today, watching my footing, wary of every distraction; I just wanted to get home, build a fire, put some soup on to heat. I was thinking about this winter, how hard it had been, and where I stood, in relation to that. This is a far reach for someone half my age. But I finally decided to just string along. See where the next foot fell. Cleaning day at the museum, for Mark's lecture this evening (I have to miss it, as close to zero temps tonight and I had to get a fire started before dark) and the opening on Sunday. Mark and Charlotte doing the last art delivery tomorrow, and I was told I didn't have to work Saturday, which is good, because I need to haul wood in preparation for the next below zero blast hitting here Monday. I hope I can get to the opening, but it's no big deal if I have to miss it. The walk in was lovely. I stopped eight times, every fifty paces (I count subconsciously), at all the places I usually stop, coming in this afternoon. The wet-weather springs, the framed views across the hollow, how the culverts were draining; usually I stop another time or two because something catches my attention. I'm easily distracted, a red bug or a hardy plant trapped in ice. Carrying a goodly pack tonight, and I just wanted to lay my burden down. I could have driven in, but I didn't know that, so I walked, and I was struck, again, by the wind, on top of the ridge. Running bare-poled. A gold coin nailed to the mast. Got stuck in town yesterday, waiting for Ray, the elevator guru. He had returned my call, and asked if I could stay late and that he might be able to get over from Cincy. At six-thirty he called again and said he couldn't make it and it was too late to get home before dark. I had thought about sitting out the coming ice-storm in town, but decided to brave the dark and cold, go home and hunker down where I'm most comfortable. I cleaned out the refrigerators (Charlotte had told me to, though I didn't know it was part of my job description), took the box of discarded foodstuffs to the dumpster, stopped and topped up the Jeep with gas, and headed for the ridge. I used to like driving at night, now I hate it, but I got home safely. A wise decision, as walking in cleared my head. The house was cold, but I started a fire, ate sushi, had a drink, and my world view was soon ameliorated with creature comforts. Layered up this morning, hauled dry wood to the shed, cut it to length, and brought it all inside. Supposed to be two nights of zero temps. I set out two flashlights, that I can find in the dark; filled the oil lamps and got out some candles, because I know I'll lose electricity. I did very well today, for an old guy with a bad hip. Confronted thus. Carried water, and chopped wood.