Notes from Maine - 2023/02/05
This time of year, it’s difficult to not talk about the weather. I’ve just come in from the cold and my toes are still tingling—they’re thawing out as I wiggle them. Some winters, it just gets colder and colder as the days get shorter. I think it was the winter of 2018/19 when we had that stretch of below-zero temperatures (below -17.7º C) between Christmas and New Years. My sister and nephew came up and the three of us were prisoners in the house. I would bundle up and rush out to the barn to do chores several times a day. Aside from that, we stayed inside. Actually, my sister did venture out once to take pictures of the snow. Because of the cold, crystals had formed on top of the crust, catching the sunlight and making the world sparkle.
But that year, the temperatures slid down. It wasn’t at all abrupt.
This year, we had temps in the 30s to 40s (just above 0º C) and then we had a day where it dropped to -20 (-28º C). The shift was jarring. They talked about it on the national news. All that attention made the weather feel like a crisis. A friend made fun of the alarm—“Cold temperatures? In MAINE? In FEBRUARY?”
The temperature shouldn’t be a surprise. It was news because it was abrupt. We grow accustomed to the status quo regardless of previous experience. It’s difficult to remain thankful for above-freezing temperatures when they’ve stayed the same for weeks or months at a time. It only seems like a relief when we’ve had a few days of arctic living.
A couple of weeks ago, when we had a dip in temps, I was struggling with the cart outside. I use the cart several times a day, so I keep a tire pump out in the barn in case one of the wheels goes flat. Sure enough, I had a flat. I hoped that it was a slow leak and pumped up both tires so I could use the cart again. The next day, temperatures rebounded. The cart was unusable. The thing had exploded, tearing a giant rip through tube and tire. The manufacturer is in Maine, so I called them and explained what happened. They sold me some new wheels with solid tires. I won’t have that problem again.
More recently, as the temperatures were dropping, I had to go up to Dad’s house. We’re prepping the house for sale this year and there are tons of things to do. While I was there, the weather turned. I started Dad’s truck to come home and all four low-pressure sensors lit up. They were reading just below the recommended pressure. I suppose the abrupt shift made the alarm go off. We still have a tire pump in Dad’s garage, but there was no way I was going to fill the tires when it was so cold. I kept thinking about the wheels on the horse cart. Can you imagine going out to the garage the next day and finding the truck sitting on four flats? I’m sure that wouldn’t happen, right? As I drove home, I kept an eye on the sensors. As soon as the tires warmed up, the readings went back to normal. I’ll check them again today to see if they really need more air.
February always feels like a long, slow slog through the digestive tract of winter. We’re already five days in—seventeen percent done. Maybe this year it won’t feel so oppressive.
