FEBRUARY 5, 2023 – After imitating a prone coal-miner for an hour yesterday, hacking, chopping, picking away at the compacted snow under my car, I repaired to the cabin to fire up oak in the wood-burning stove and crank up Simon and Garfunkel on the CD (“Cabin Disc”) player. I then whipped up supper. While eating, I read more of Robert Massie’s enthralling biography of Catherine the Great. I’d successfully parked the stuck-car problem.
After a midnight moonwalk, I planned well into the future: a leisurely breakfast this morning before tackling the car problem. My one-step plan was to pour some anti-freeze around the tires. I’d considered boiling water, but the internet warned against it—to avoid damaging the tires. “Grizzly John,” the neighbor who’d come to my aid a month ago, had a better, three-step plan: 1. Calling me five minutes after I’d climbed out of bed (and probably about three hours after he’d done so), 2. Meeting me at the car three minutes later and spreading sawdust in front and back of the tires, and 3. Pushing the car while I floored it. Mission accomplished!
Unfortunately, the story didn’t end there. To position my car for entry onto the spur from our drive to John’s compound—and escape—I had to imitate an open-pit mining operation to create sufficient room for the turn. The tool of choice turned out to be the splitting maul that yesterday had bounced off oak burls. Multiple chops with the maul for half an hour eventually pulverized the hardened plow-bank. To improve the maul’s efficacy, I pretended it was an industrial-gauge pneumatic hammer. I then used a shovel to remove the crushed ore. The car is now positioned ahead of the spur, with ample turning space for the critical moment—tomorrow, before more snow arrives—when I’ll give the car plenty of gas, then swing the wheel and charge down the escape route, snow flying in my wake.
Sweating from the mining exercise, I took a break.
As I lifted my gaze, I saw winter dressed in its Sunday best. The sun, a ball of nuclear fusion 93 million miles away, was down to earth, all smiles and happiness. It danced among the trees, casting delightful shadows across the heavy blanket of snow. I donned Beth’s elite pair of snowshoes and walked through the woods as if coursing through a snow sculpture garden without boundaries.
Later, I skied on the lake, 20 to 50 feet off shore, for several kilometers. The sun, with its unique ability to be everywhere at once, turned the snow into an endless bed of jewels. Moreover, Sol’s generous smile warmed the air into the 20s. Hunting for good photo shots proceeded without frozen hands.
My third excursion began just before sunset. Wearing boots without skis or snowshoes, I walked on a snowmobile track on the frozen lake, about 100 feet from shore, westward around the bend in the northwest corner, then south about a quarter mile. My objective: an optimal view of the full moonrise.
Like a giant pearl, the orb rose from the grasp of silhouetted trees along the back ridge of Björnholm. I stopped to absorb the view. The world around me was perfectly still, quiet and . . . beautiful.
The “win” was back in winter.
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
