Winterizing

It's not a rational thing at all, like checking things off a to-do list. It's more like a Jack London tribal wheel turning in the base of my skull and making me put on wool socks. Like a goose flying south, all it takes is a little nip in the air for me to hunker down, prepare my cave for winter, and start laying in the firewood. That's not quite true. It takes a village, or at least a neighbor who has a tree service come and take down a big silver maple in their back yard so I can pick up the pieces.

We woke up to the sound of chainsaws on Labor Day, and their giant chipper was right there, and I didn't want to see good firewood turned into mulch, so I asked the boss, and he said, "Take what you want," so I made several trips across the street with the wheelbarrow with whatever I could lift. I figure it's around a cord. Now, will it dry in time to burn this winter, or will it have to wait until next year?

A few days later, my friend Jim spotted a pile of cut-down trees while running in the the woods near the Sanctified Brethren campus. Being a stand-up guy, Jim went to the source and asked the college grounds crew if those trees were spoken for, and they said, "Take what you want," so Jim led me to the spot and we loaded whatever we could lift in the truck. I figure it's another cord or so.

One thing leads to another. I didn't take the truck to Michigan, because Gven's car gets better mileage, and I saved about a tank of gas by driving her Accord. But as luck would have it, the truck got a flat right-front tire my first day back, and long story short, I went tire shopping the following Saturday. Discount Tire on route 23 had a good deal, so I had them replace both front tires in time to go home and listen to the football game on the radio.

In the meantime, I had an hour to kill, so I walked across route 23 to Meijer, where I'd heard they have Converse All-Stars, and my old ones are falling apart. To my surprise, they had black high-tops in my size (25 percent off!), so I decided to replace both shoes at once. I know, last of the big spenders.

That little episode made me think about the fall of 1975, when I was living in the Upper Peninsula and my beloved, neglected 1966 Mustang was breaking down. I drove it to the shop in Marquette, but because I was short on cash, I decided not to have the work done and bought a new pair of Chuck Taylors instead. Watershed moment. The Mustang sat outside the cabin in Deerton all winter while I hitched rides to and from Marquette. I sold the Mustang to a student the following spring just before hitching to Georgia.

But I digress. I've been breaking in the new Chucks this weekend, but this morning's primitive sense memory said, "Wear boots," so I put on the old brown Rockports I got at Galyan's (50 percent off!) with a gift certificate given me by a group of dear students. They looked pretty sad this morning - the boots, not the students - so I cleaned them up with saddle soap and rubbed neatsfoot oil into every crease, crack, and seam. Now they're as good as new - better in fact - and I have no doubt they will get me through another winter.