Drive - A Memoir 49th Installment
I
even looked this phobia up in the Encyclopedia Britannica and found
out I am not the only one. A fear of intense cold is called
cheimatophobia, and I have it. Whew. But, being the well trained
soldier, with a healthy fear of embarrassment or punishment, I
marched on. On a cold day the old log barn was not much help. Sure,
there was a roof so there was no snow inside, but there were so many
holes and spaces between the logs, that you could throw a cat through
the wall about anywhere. The temperature inside was only slightly
higher than the temperature outside. On this forty below morning, and
other mornings nearly as cold, the vacuum pump needed help starting
to turn. After milking a couple of cows, the moist air from the milk
would freeze the main vacuum pipe. The Old Man had put a smudge pot
below the end valve, and we would light the fire and crack the valve
so it would suck in the flame. Pretty savvy. The bigger problem was
that the moist air would freeze the machine’s pulsing valve and the
vacuum lines in the milking machine itself.
“This
one has stopped, and Whitey is only half done,” Russ stammered
through chattering teeth as the cold had soaked to the bone.
Mine
was running slow, actually only hitting about every third stroke.
“Look at it this way,” I was trying to be the optimist to offset
my irritation at Russ. Let’s shut ‘em down, pack ‘em in the
house, and throw ‘em in the shower under hot water. This will make
the chores a lot longer, but look at the upside: we can get out of
this frigging cold and warm up a little. When it was this cold
outside, I got real nervous, like I was going to die.
Suddenly
Russell’s voice became real even and clear, “Casey is a
panty–waist. Casey is a scaredy–cat, a real chicken –
Brawk–brawk–brawk, Rrrrrrrrrrbawk bawk BAWK!” Putting me down
always warms the cockles of his heart.
The
hour of milking took over two hours that morning.
“Hey
it’s way warmer,” I announced to the whole family a week after
the big
freeze. “It’s
only five below zero right now. It’s almost summer!”
“That’s
35 degrees warmer than before,” Edith said, doing the math.
“Come
on Russ, let’s go kill some jackrabbits!” I exclaimed.
“Now?”
Edith said unbelieving. “Its night time and I just made cookies.”
“Ooohoo,
that’s a hard choice. Let me think about it a while,” I squeaked
in a cartoon voice. “Let’s kill jackrabbits!” I yelled the next
instant.
“You
didn’t think about it, you clown, I’ll wrap you guys some
cookies, and I’ll get you a jar of milk. How do you shoot anything
in the dark?” Edith’s question was well reasoned.
“No
milk. It’ll freeze,” I was still playing the comedian. “Duh, we
spotlight them.”
500 more words tomorrow
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