You never know what we'll churn up in cleaning a stall
In my moves across the northern U.S., I’ve always lived in places that would get icicles in winter – some places more impressively than others. I never planned it that way, but in some locales they could grow down past floor-length windows, creating a threat to anything below. When those fell, their crash would shake the house, sometimes waking us from deep sleep. These, on the second floor at the Cobscook Quaker meetinghouse in Whiting, Maine, are modest in comparison.
When I see this phenomenon where I’m now living, I’m reminded of an ice floe stampede one Sunday afternoon on the Susquehanna River back in the winter of ‘71. For two hours or so after an ice jam upstream had been dynamited, the river was a racetrack of large jagged white wedges three or four feet thick crashing down the riverway. Viewing it was terrifying, mystifying and unforgettable. Slabs of the ice that had been thrust into shrubs along the riverbanks remained visible until nearly May.
Hobart Stream at Cobscook Bay, Edmunds Township, Maine.
A snowy winter like the one we’re having reminds me of Upstate New York and the Poconos back then. The season’s longer and more intense than what I had growing up in southern Ohio and later in college in southern Indiana.
Here, though, I also have the Atlantic, as Passamaquoddy Bay, and Canada beyond it in the mix.
Welcome to my world, now and back then.
How about your winter?
The historic Seaman’s Church on Middle Street has weathered many changes since it was built in 1828. Somehow this image seems fitting as we wind down another year.
The French learned some harsh lessons in their attempt to establish their first North American settlement on a small island perhaps ten miles north of where I know live.
“It was difficult to know this country without having wintered there; for on arriving in summer everything is very pleasant on account of the woods, the beautiful landscapes, and the fine fishing for the many kinds of fish we found there,” Samuel Champlain wrote. “There are six months of winter in that country.”
I’ve previously contended that New England has a five- or six-month winter, so that passage offers me some confirmation.
As that winter dragged on, however, more than half of the men and boys developed what Champlain called a “mal de la terre,” or “land sickness” – scurvy, a disease caused by Vitamin C deficiency. It was common among sailors stuck on ships for months at a time, and many captains knew to keep citrus fruits on board, or beverages made from evergreen tree needles. During the European Age of Sail between 1500 and 1800, it was assumed that half of all crews would die of scurvy.
It wasn’t pretty.
“Their teeth barely held in place, and could be removed with the fingers without causing pain,” Champlain wrote of the horrific suffering the settlers endured over the winter of 1604-1605. “This excess flesh was often cut away, which caused them to bleed extensively from the mouth.”
Eat your apples and oranges and grapefruit, then, as well as lemons and limes.
We find ourselves looking at evergreens in the wild a bit differently at this time of year. Remember, we cut our own Christmas tree once we locate the right choice.
Climatic change is bringing more frequent and fiercer storms to Way Downeast. Last winter felled many trees in the region. Here’s what of those did to a riverside rental cabin in Calais.
Ours has long been described as a cold house, at least through winter, even before we discovered how much heat had been leaking into upstairs despite attempts to seal that off. Now that our bedrooms are actually up there, it’s on longer considered a problem.
Or, as our contractor quipped, back then folks believed in letting a house breathe. Uh-huh. They did burn a lot of firewood.
Once we had a wood stove in place, we resolved to see how well that worked in our revamped place and make adjustments from there.
Our existing blown hot-air furnace is definitely inefficient. It even lacks an air filter. Like much of New England, it runs on pricy fuel oil. Beyond that, it’s also vulnerable to Maine’s notorious electrical outages. No electricity, the thermostat’s useless.
An obvious improvement would be turning to a heat exchanger, perhaps one tied into our existing downstairs duct work, though that would still be vulnerable to electrical outages. Or outrages, if you will.
The conversion would also work for cooling the house come summer, as needed. Not that we have many days like that, living on an island as we do.
In addition, we have those rotting downstairs sills to contend with, and the obsolete triple-track often badly out of whack storm windows and screens, plus the front and back doors.
As for cold intrusions? Who can be sure they’re really not ghosts?
We’ll do what we can at each step ahead.
Streams take off.
Now I’m wondering about the gulls.
Jnana's Red Barn 