My brother Gary was visiting recently and as the mercury plummeted, we began to reminisce around the wood fire. Perhaps it was the flickering fire light, the ruddy red glow of the coals or the leaping yellow, blue and orange of the flames that stirred the old and savored memories, retrieving them from our minds dusty closets where they had slumbered for so many years.
As we tried to remember the last time it had been well below zero, Gary suddenly began laughing out loud in obvious amusement, reminding me of the time our father, Richard Robertson, scoffing at the warnings to stay inside in bitter weather had strapped on his cross-country skis and headed out back to the BB&K grade. The snow was 3 feet deep in the woods and drifts could be as deep as six feet or more. You didn’t want to step off your skis, for how deep you sank was always a question mark, plus the wind chill was -30!
Anyway, off Dad went while we decided a cup of hot chocolate and some TV were more in order. Boots and clothing in those days were not what they are today.
An hour and a half later we heard a stomping on the porch, the door opened, and a snow creature stumbled into the house accompanied by a blast of frigid air.
This figure’s clothing was snow covered; the summer hat with a stocking cap pulled over it was white with snow except the leading edges which were encased with ice particles.
A closer look revealed Dad’s cold swollen face, which had turned a deep, brick red, with slight patches of frost on each cheek.
Gary and I immediately recognized the patches as frostbite and a closer look showed his eyebrows were frosted white along with his eye lashes which really impressed us.
The crimson nose was surprisingly not frost bitten, but it looked like a few more minutes outside would soon have changed that. The skis were lying on the porch, but the ski poles were dangling on his red, chafed wrists, the jackets cuffs stiff with ice. His cheap brown work gloves were designed for summer. Luckily, he’d worn 2 pairs just in case, thank goodness! The gloves were frozen stiff; and appeared as if they were still gripping the poles. His entire body appeared to be stiffened into immobility.
Concerned, we immediately leaped to his aid, peeling off the icy, stiff stocking cap and hat, helping bend his fingers to remove the gloves and ski poles. Dad’s jacket zipper was frozen tightly shut and difficult to unzip.
With his jacket and gloves off, the ski poles removed and the heat from the house soaking in Dad began looking a little happier.
Once the top clothing layer was removed, we started on the jeans and boots. Dad’s fingers weren’t working yet.
Cotton is the absolute worst fabric for winter weather; in fact, it’s called the “Death Fabric” by knowledgeable rescue workers in New Hampshire who recover their fair share of bodies each year in the White Mountains. In fact, a poor woman died from exposure just a few days ago near Mt. Madison.
Dad’s jeans were frozen solid from the tops of his boots to above his knees. Underneath the pants lay an inexpensive pair of the waffle long underwear. They did keep the pants from freezing to his legs, I guess.
Since Dick’s fingers were inoperative, we unbuckled his belt and were about to help with his pants when we realized the boots had to come off first. Well, the shoelaces were just a solid chunk of ice, so we grabbed a chair and sat dad down, stiff legged, while we tried to figure out the boot puzzle.
Soon the hair dryer was in use and between beating chunks of ice off the laces and melting the remainder with blasts of hot air, 5 minutes of brisk work had him de-booted and able to hobble to the bathroom where he held his aching fingers under lukewarm water, and we held washcloths to his cheeks.
Now that he was warming up Dad was in excellent spirits, but soon his breathing became labored, he was feeling a little lightheaded and said his lungs ached. Appeared he’d also semi-frosted his lungs breathing in great gulps of that frigid air rushing back to the house when he realized he was in danger. Next, he began coughing and moaning about his toes; they’d thawed out enough to burn and ache.
As we evaluated our father and his symptoms, even as young as we were, it dawned on us that Dad was fortunate to have made it back when he did! Dressed lightly, in cheap clothing not intended for severe cold weather and skiing too far before turning back he had placed himself in grave danger.
Mom appeared to think so too for she really laid into him, chewing him up one side and down the other.
Gary and I just sat back and enjoyed every second of that inspired tirade, we were in awe of her eloquent, vehement outburst and just loved seeing Dad flinching under Mom’s ire instead of us for a change!
When it’s -25 below zero, a good fire and fun memories are a far better choice than foolishly venturing outside where the worst can and does happen!
