pretty interesting drive in good weather, with hills, curves, hairpin turns, a humpback bridge, and suicidal wildlife to keep you alert. But throw heavy snow and ice into the mix, and the commute would go from tedious to hair raising.
I was always glad to get to my turnoff because I only had to go a couple more miles to get home to a warm fire and an adult beverage. I could feel my mood elevating as I wheeled onto my little two-track. And it stayed elevated until I got a mile or so down the road. Then as I peered through the windshield wipers and the heavy snow I saw what looked to be Moby Dick stretched out across my path.
Well, I stopped and got out of the truck to reconnoiter. I could see that it was whale of a big old oak tree that decided to give up being an upstanding member of the forest to become an obstacle to my comfort and happiness. The situation had only one resolution but at that moment I was too cold to figure it out.
So, I got back in the truck to warm up and as I sat there I had only one wish on my mind; I wished I had my chainsaw with me. But it was back home, in the barn. I had used it all fall, taking down dead trees and bucking them up for firewood. I hadn’ t really thought to put it in the truck. Well, the resolution to the predicament finally worked its way into my half-frozen brain— I was gonna have to walk home.
I turned off the headlights( to save the battery), turned on the emergency flashers so that I could find I the truck when I came back to work on the tree, and I started hoofing it.
With the wind blowing snow in my face and drifts in my path, I slogged for what felt like ten miles home. I could finally see the dim lights of the cabin, and that sight, while not exactly warming the cockles of my heart or any other frozen part of my body, did lift my spirits some.
I made it home. On the porch I made so much noise stomping and shaking the snow off that my wife came to the door to see what was happening.“ Well, where have you been?” she asked.“ I’ ve been worried about you. I was about to get in the car and go looking for you,” she continued. It was a lovely thought but about an hour too late.
I told her about the downed tree and how, after I got a mug of hot coffee in me and warmed up some, I was going to grab the chainsaw and clear the road. She said that it was just terrible that I had to go back out into the storm but she volunteered to help. And then she added,“ You did remember to get gas for the saw, didn’ t you?” •
July / August 2025 • Our Brown County 35