Cold

Cold is relative.
This morning it is a relatively balmy 25F degrees.
Last week I would have told you that 25 is cold, but after the cold snap this weekend, it really doesn't feel so bad (except when my glove fingers freeze to the shovel handle after I've pulled my hands into fists to keep them warm enough to clean the walkways and sidewalks).
Friday morning our thermometer at home said -2. Here in town it was zero. I think it made it up to about 10 degrees.
Saturday morning it was -11 at home and -4 here in town. That is cold.
Unless you live in Minnesota, then even those temperatures could feel relatively balmy.
Really.
I remember reading a book when I was a child that said if you spit at 40 below, it will freeze before it hits the ground. I never thought I'd put myself in a situation to see if that were true.
And then I grew up and moved to Minnesota.
Yep. It's true. You can hear it crackle as it freezes.
However, at that temperature, any exposed skin is not safe. Nothing is safe.
It was so cold, propane gelled in the tank. If it stayed that cold and you had to have the propane to keep the furnace going, you'd have to shovel red hot coals underneath the tank to warm it enough to be usable. Fortunately, we kept our coals in the wood burners (yes, plural - we had 2 of them) and kept feeding them. We went through about 7 cords of wood in a winter. 7 cords of good wood and we were still wearing sweaters in the house.
At that time, PC worked at the sawmill in our little community - about 3 miles from the house. The cold didn't stop them much. If it were 20 below or warmer (who would've thought you'd ever see '20 below' and 'warmer' in the same sentence?), the sawmill ran. At -21, the old man would grunt and the sawmill would stay idle.
Driving on the lake was a new thing for me, too. We lived about 2 miles north of Mille Lacs Lake. It is not a small lake. In fact, I believe it's one of the larger lakes in a state known for its lakes. Not long before Christmas, little icehouses would start appearing far out from shore. The little sheds on skis that sit along the water's edge all summer long were just waiting for the freeze. Once the ice was thick enough - about 3 feet- it was safe for a full size vehicle to drive on. The icehouses are hooked up like trailers and pulled out onto the lake. Whole little communities pop-up. Roads are plowed and the little shacks become homes away from home - one way to battle cabin fever.
In the floors of these little shacks (usually with a plywood bunk or two, a small heater, and a chair) are trapdoors. You pull the handle and it opens up to reveal the surface of the lake about 6 inches below floor level. You use an ice auger to drill a 6" hole. When the ice thickens, you use an auger extension (I am not making this up) to reach the water.
The fishing is good some days, not so good others: like any other fishing, I guess. (If you don't catch anything, you can hook up your house to your truck and move.) The walleye tastes wonderful, but if you're lucky, you catch such a big one you can't pull it in (I'm not sure that's lucky). And they have big, sharp teeth. Lots of them.
Living up there, I certainly saw things you'd never see around here.
That's okay with me.
If I ever feel the need to keep the ice open around my fishing hole, I know where to go.

It worked; I feel warmer already :).

The Loon Center

Although I haven't written much about anything lately, I have quite a few pictures waiting to be posted both from the Oregon coffee trip and from the New Hampshire vacation.
Here's one:

I thought it was appropriate to take my family to visit the Loon Center.

And then I saw this picture, taken on a foray into the Goodwill store a few weeks ago:


Somehow, these pictures seemed appropriate together.

Oregon Trip - Post 6 - BIG

One thing that has always impressed me about Oregon is the SIZE of things; Texas should be jealous.
When we lived out there a decade-plus ago, the blackberries were as big as ping-pong balls.
And, no, I am not kidding. Not exaggerating, either.

I think this is actually a raspberry bloom, but it makes the size of it even more impressive:



This leaf, which was beside the yellow train car, was bigger than my head (no, I did not get my head in the picture as a size-reference):

And this:

was absolutely the most impressive slug I ever saw. It was on a foot bridge, having crawled up through the cracks (I could tell by its trail of slime, which was pretty impressive, too, though it didn't show up in the picture).

It was between 4-5 inches long. It was HUGE. I could probably add a couple of inches to my guesstimate size and not have anyone who knows Oregon slugs argue with me.
Really, really HUGE.

Oregon Trip - Post 5- Depot Rail Museum

In yesterday's post at The 123, I talked about why I found this little Oregon town so fascinating. More specifically -and something else in common with Grafton's red caboose (and other rail history)- this Depot Rail Museum caught my interest:

This little Depot-turned-museum sits at the far end of town, just about on the Sandy River.
"End of the Line Museum Store:"






Unfortunately, I was there too early in the morning to take the inside tour, but I couldn't help looking through the windows:




although the view from the front porch wasn't much:




This yellow car sits in the front yard:







I wanted to take pictures of this car like I did for our red caboose post, so I just walked around snapping away:











It's obvious that this car is much newer than our red caboose.



How much newer?



I googled this train car number:


And learned that this car was built in Ohio in 1975.



It was in service as recently as 1993, because the picture of it on the web page was taken in Washington State.






There was no information online or on-site that indicated when or why it was retired.












I tried to look in the window, but it was pretty blurry:


There was a boiler and a few cots, like a bunkhouse. Does that make it a caboose?



I have no idea.

What impressed me the most -and this wasn't the first time- was the age difference in our history.
Grafton, West Virginia's boom began in the 1850s when the railroad first came over the Allegheny Mountains. Troutdale, Oregon's boom was around 1900. It took time for our nation to move West.

I tried to find out when our red caboose was built, but I can't find a thing. I do know, however, that it has been sitting on Main Street for 30 years or so. That means it was retired around the same time that this yellow caboose was just a baby.