The season that shall not yet be named

This is my weekly column for the Sunday, Oct. 5, 2008 Hibbing Daily Tribune. This piece is based on an essay I read for KAXE’s “Between You and Me” a couple weeks ago.

The season that shall not yet be named
By Aaron J. Brown

In the American folk song “Goodnight, Irene,” the narrator tells us that, “sometimes I live in the country, and sometimes I live in town.” Well, that’s been my life story. I grew up in the country, on a family-owned junkyard along northern Minnesota’s Iron Range. After college, I lived in town … a small Iron Range town, granted, but still a place where you put your garbage in the alley Dumpster and it just goes away. Now I live back in the country, still on the Iron Range but in the parts not visible from space. All over northern Minnesota, winter matters. In the country, winter matters just a little bit more.

Why, you ask? Simple, really: snow removal, boat issues and the effect of cold conditions on things not maintained by my tax dollars.

Let’s go in order. First, snow removal. The first thing you learn about winter when you move to the country is that you are largely on your own when the snow falls. It’s like “Lord of the Flies,” except with less talking and more distrust of strangers. Yes, the roads are plowed, often all the way up to your driveway. But your vehicle is tragically located somewhere between your garage or parking area and the plowed edge of the road. Thus, the likelihood of getting stuck in the snow is much stronger within walking distance of your front door than anywhere else.

I bring this up because where you stack the snow affects where should the stash the rusting industrial waste you call your “supply pile.” Unless you enjoy puncturing your muffler or jamming your snowblower on a stray piece of rebar, you should put that rebar over by the 1987 Sundance with no wheels.

Next, the matter of boats. Not everyone has a boat, but everyone with a few years “in country” knows the importance of proper boat and dock winterization. This is the first year I’ve had to worry about getting a boat out of the water before it becomes suspended in a thick layer of crushing ice. Last month, I wrote about how my dad gave me his classic family speedboat with four generations of nautical history under the lid of its outboard motor. This month, it was suddenly and supremely my duty to get that boat in for the winter.

As a northern Minnesotan, I am accustomed to the fact that lakes freeze thick every year. I wasn’t a beginner. I started this process early and with a clear head. We don’t yet have a dock, so I didn’t have to worry about dragging that monster out, either. However, the fact that the boat was beached down by our lakeshore, far from electrical outlets, is part of why the landing of the boat didn’t go as well as planned. My wife Christina and I had a firm idea that we’d take our oldest son, age 3, out for one last tour of the lake before bringing in the craft at her parents’ house next door, where the shore is more suitable. After donning life jackets, loading in the toddler and shoving off, we were greeted by that oh-so-special sound when I attempted to start the motor: “click.” Just click. Is it flooded? No, it’s the battery.

Maybe you do, but I’d argue that most haven’t experienced the sensation of paddling a fiberglass speedboat with enough momentum to reach a landing. “Remind me never to go canoeing with you,” Christina told me at one heated point. Canoe? This is no canoe,

Dad has dispatched a nice portable solar battery charger to use for the boat next year, so the “boat incident” of ’08 shan’t be repeated.

The last item of country winterization to consider is the basics of infrastructure. In town, the city handles your water, your electricity and your waste. In some towns, the city even handles your heat. You pay for it, but may also enjoy the illusion of magic. In the country, you are in part responsible for all of these things, sometimes to the point where if any of them fail, you alone care if you survive through the night. From ensuring that above-ground power lines are clear of trees, to filling that oil tank with the last of your life savings, to praying for enough snow so that your septic mound doesn’t freeze, hey, that’s just life in the country.

The leaves may still be on the tree, but most of them are in my yard. That means its time to start thinking about winter.