Say, but it's C-O-L-D

Well, if you've been following this blog (and that would be pretty easy, because I haven't posted since July) this would be a perfect time to post about how cold it is. Pretty cold. We are wondering, what were we thinking, when we decided that Indiana would be a good place to land when leaving VA. It has already been single digits with some below-zero wind chills, and it isn't even Christmas yet. WHAT WERE WE THINKING?!?!?!

But that has been off-set by time with family which warms the heart - nearly compensating for throbbing fingers and toes. I'm convinced that I suffered some frost bite as a child growing up in Wisconsin. The following story would be a sample of multiple experiences of similar situations . . . .

It was either a Sunday afternoon, or we were on Christmas break. I was younger than 9, because we were still living on our farm near Ontario, WI. My older brother, Harvey, and sister, Nancy and I were going ice skating on a nearby pond in a swampy area not far from our farm house (unless walking through the bitter cold and snow). I would venture to say that the pond would be about 1/2 mile from our house, but maybe slightly less - the young mind tends to make things bigger than they turn out to be in adult life. There was at least a foot of snow on the ground, so walking through the woods was difficult for short legs.

The pond was covered in the same foot-plus layer of snow, so shoveling had to occur before any skating was done. My recollection is that there was only one shovel to use, and Harvey was the obvious choice, or we would have done no skating, whatsoever. So, what do you do while someone works on clearing that much snow so you can ice skate? You stand around in the snow and watch, while your fingers and toes begin to go numb. After a little of this action, you decide you are bored and had better put your skates on and begin moving before you freeze to death. The skates are so cold you can hardly pry them open enough to insert your already stiff toes. They probably have some snow in them because you set them in the snow - there isn't any place that isn't snow-covered. I distinctly remember how difficult it was to manipulate the skates and laces, both of which were leather and became very stiff in the cold. Now, anyone who has done much ice skating knows that the tighter you get your skates, the longer you can skate, because weak ankles flop over after a bit and you are skating on the sides of your feet - not on the blades, so make them TIGHT!!

Already cold fingers and feet now are exposed to the really cold air and skates. But once the skates are on, now you can begin moving!!! Imagine trying to skate in the space of a twister pad. Given that you can't really do much skating on tiny island of clear ice, what do you do? You stand and watch the shovel work - all the while getting colder and colder. Don't forget how tight your skates are - generally cutting off all circulation that might have saved your toes. Your hands and feet are now simply mercifully numb, but headed in the wrong direction. The person with the shovel seems to be doing pretty will with the cold, but annoyed that others are complaining about how cold it is and how there isn't enough ice to skate on and how s-l-o-w-l-y the process unfolding. I'm guessing that in an attempt to skate on the available ice, more snow was getting dragged onto the ice by bumping into the sides of the still the small space. Generally, everyone is having a pretty lame time.

I have no idea how long this continued, but to the young mind - it seemed like eternity. Well, finally, Harvey had cleared enough ice so the three of us could skate a little in the relatively tiny rink created by heroic shoveling of that deep snow. I'm going to guess that Harvey was able to skate a grand total of 5 minutes. But, by then the damage had been done. I was beyond cold. My feet and hands felt, literally, like blocks of ice. When Harvey and Nancy acquiesced and it was time to head for the house, I couldn't even consider removing my skates and exposing flesh to the cold. My fingers wouldn't work anyway. I began walking through the snow with my skates on. I didn't care. By now I was beyond complaining and was crying in the fashion that makes any communication impractical, unless you can parse together the broken utterances of partial words and phrases. I was in sad shape.

Now - of all the times I have been cold . . . . and there are many, this may have been the worst. Harvey and Nancy even showed concern for my situation. That was uncommon, so I believe that they really thought I was in trouble or at least they were going to get in trouble when we got home for letting me get so cold. Either way . . . . .

Which is worse, the slow progression of the freezing process, or the reverse of the same? At least in their frozen condition, MOST of the feeling was gone. As they warmed, all that feeling returned. My fingers and toes were screaming at me as if they had been slammed by a sledge hammer. More unintelligible, broken attempts at communication. Warming of extremities was done in warm water. It hurt worse than you can imagine.

Fast forward to today. Those damaged phalanges respond to cold more quickly than I would like. Simple activities like hanging lights or snow removal or hunting result in aching fingers and numb toes. The thought of ice-fishing gives me the heebie-geebies.

Bottom line . . . . "what were we thinking?"