I remember the winter of 1960, in Lake Charles, Louisiana. The thermometer became unreadable, we closed all the bedrooms, dragged the mattresses for all five kids and our parents into the living room, and turned on the oven.
Everyone’s pipes on our block froze, save one, and kids lined up with little red wagons with gallon jugs and buckets to run water out of the Olsen’s hose. Quite an adventure!
My wife and I relocated to Carroll County in June 2008. We lived in a funky old trailer house while contracting construction of a new house. The Great Ice Storm of 2009 intervened. I was employed as a teacher at Berryville High School, which released everyone that day to go get ready. When I stopped at Walmart on the way home, the shelves were empty.
Fetched up in south Louisiana, I was familiar with hurricane freak-out, but I ain’t never seen no ice storm. First, the electricity went out. Everything was covered in an inch or more of solid ice. Ice-laden tree branches exploded in the night. We lucked out in two regards: we could light manually a propane stove for cooking, and stoke a woodstove to keep basic heat, and melt down three-foot icicles to flush toilets and heat water to wash dishes. We played cards and listened to the battery-operated radio.
Our neighbors saved us: they knew we were ignorant. They brought firewood, water from their wells which ran on generators, towed our vehicles out of the frozenated mud, brought us groceries. Eight days later, we had electricity.
After our new house was built, we installed a 21st century woodstove. We have lots of woods around the place, so it is an efficient complement to the propane furnace. I enjoyed sawing dead trees, splitting logs, learning somehow to load the woodstove without smoking up the entire house. New adventure, lifelong learner, part of my American heritage, right?
When I don’t smoke up the house, the woodstove is great, a smoky woody aroma in the air, warmer dryer heat than out furnace makes. It is my wintertime chore. For a couple years, mice were nesting in the logs on the rack outside our basement. One year when I cleaned the chimbly, I got a handful of wasps. Who would’ve thunk it? Wasps attempt to overwinter in the double insulated, stainless steel pipe that runs from a modern day, 96% efficient woodstove. I was more careful this year.
I brought in some wood from last year’s woodpile, the unfortunate remains of a gigantic lightning-struck black walnut tree that threatened to collapse and destroy half of our home. I have some other woodpiles around the place, just waiting to be cut and split.
Last week, my wife took a phone call from a neighbor, an entirely self-sufficient Ozarker who wondered if we need more firewood. One afternoon, he drove up on his four-wheeler with a trailer to deliver a half-rick – he had a day off. I was grateful and helped him unload it. We are more than okay until the next cold spell.
Then he asked about impeachment. “How many billions of dollars are we spending to make this go through? He’s doing a good job! Let him do his job!”
We don’t quite agree. I’d probably say this is the worst president in US history, but how do you argue with your neighbor, who has brought you firewood, produce from his truck patch, fresh or canned, catfish and venison he has dressed, towed your vehicle out of the muck? I may have a more nuanced view of history and politics, but he can support himself off the land. How can I even engage in a discussion?
This is where the USA has become unhinged. When the president mentioned a “civil war” recently, he was probably looking forward to a fight between factions. We don’t need that. We need to respect our neighbors, avoid the political conflict, and find common ground. Heat the house, but don’t burn down the neighborhood, don’t blow up the country.
Kirk Ashworth