Good riddance

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  • Good riddance
    Good riddance
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It was a lot of degrees below zero as I walked to the edge of the pond last week with an ax over my shoulder.

At that moment, it may have been only two degrees below zero, but it was hard to tell the difference between that and 40 below.

It had been cold enough long enough to freeze the pond with a thick layer of ice, and Kindra’s horses needed a drink.

So, there I was, thinking: “This is exactly why I don’t live in Minnesota.”

I chopped a good-sized hole, bade the horses farewell and then hopped back into the minivan with the heater turned all the way to the right.

This was an historic cold spell, no question. It was the coldest I had been since I was 20 and was stationed in New Hampshire.

Snow fell in early November up there and would still be on the ground in late March.

The Air Force kindly issued us all cold weather gear, which included parkas, thick gloves and insulated bunny boots, so you could stay warm enough while outside.

Having grown up in Oklahoma, where snow and extreme cold are novelties that might blow through a couple of days each year, I found the snow-bound life tiresome and volunteered for every hot-weather assignment available.

After two winters, I got orders for the Philippines.

The weather last week and the week before reminded me a lot of the New Hampshire weather. Even without wind, the cold up there seems to soak through your clothes and make an invisible stain on your skin.

That’s how it felt standing at the pond. Like you wouldn’t get warmer so much as the cold would just have to wear off your skin.

At home, I felt for all the folks who lost power and had water lines freeze. It was a prescription for disaster.

We were fortunate. Kindra and I kept the fireplace stoked for several days and the only pipe that froze thawed without bursting.

Finally, the temperatures got above freezing, then up to nearly 70 and people were starting to talk about baseball.

That’s more like it. The horses can walk out into the pond and drink all the water they can hold and the ax can stay in the garage.