A Return to the Woodstove (Wailing and Gnashing of teeth)

The winter that never ends... I guess that's okay

It is the winter that never ends. At least it feels that way. Anecdotal evidence from my 14th Montana winter says this one was the longest and coldest of them all. But every winter feels long and cold; this one is just the most recent. Then again, it is April 5th and it is puking snow for the seventh day in a row. It started snowing on Halloween and I have not seen the grass in my yard since then. 

Snow in April is not at all unusual. Heck, we have had snow in June four of the last five years. What makes this winter feel longer is that we never had our usual January thaw. The pattern is usually a bitter cold snap in the middle of December followed by a week of sun and forty degrees in mid January, which melts off most of the early season snow. Then, February rolls around and the precipitation starts. At least, in my memory. 

The last couple nights, all the local contractors have been gathered at the White Front for their daily wailing and gnashing of teeth. The subject this time of year is almost always the weather, and particularly in the last couple weeks, it has reached a crescendo. The snow doesn’t really accumulate, so much as cover everything up in a wet layer of crud, so you are always wet and cold. The springtime sun is still on vacation somewhere south of here. At least we aren’t in Red Lodge where they have received almost six feet of snow in the last two weeks. Buildings are starting to cave in from the snow load. But regardless of perspective, the wailing and gnashing of teeth continues. 

And so I find myself by the woodstove yet again, burning the remnants of my woodpile to keep the house above 50 degrees. I am glad I did a mid-winter chimney cleaning; the stove has gotten more use than expected. The old cast iron has plenty more years left in it. I have my feet up on the warm belly of the stove, and my eyes (when not on the computer screen) are on the alpenglow of the Pintlers in the pre-dawn. This is the first morning I have seen the mountains in a week. I have a backlog of stories to write concerning various adventures and exciting happenings in my life, but this morning I am sticking to the subject of today. 

I don’t have many problems to complain about. The weather isn’t driving me as crazy as some of my peers. I have inside things to do, like write songs and stories. Though I wouldn’t mind a nice sunny day. My lips are chapped for the first time in a decade. Why they chose now to crack and peel, I have no idea. I have a floor burn on my knee from an overly aggressive dive at pickle-ball the other day. Honestly, any diving in pickle-ball is probably overly aggressive. My hair needs a trim. Like an old man, I am too stubborn to go to a barber, so Sam cuts my hair in the kitchen. We had guests arrive in the middle of my haircut on Sunday night and there are few spots that clearly got missed. I am nibbling on some delicious homemade bread while the entire herd of town mule deer nibble on the few patches of grass visible on the hillside. I move too quickly to the window and they all freeze and glare at me. They desperately want this winter to end as well; all the good niblings are underneath the snow.

For this morning’s story, I decided to take a snapshot of my life so a future self to reread and remember. I have been producing a lot of “content” these days; at least that is what the pros call it. I recently released nine songs to the music streaming platforms. Weekly, I record new songs in the kitchen and release them on Youtube. I write a monthly column for the local paper. I write these stories and put them in my blog. It makes me feel productive. I am happy with the quantity and generally, the quality of my work. But because all of this is digitized, I also get the metrics and viewership data. Some of it is cool; like the fact that I know that someone in Lazio, Italy listened to my Spotify album. Some of it is disheartening; like the fact that over fifty percent of my blog writing has never had a single reader. Thirty percent more has had only one (thanks Mom!). I only have six repeat listeners on Spotify. I am not too torn up about it, I just wanted to write it down to recognize where I am at. I do have several blog posts that got thirty+ reads; so sometimes I write something worth reading. The only way to get better is to keep making more; more songs, more videos, more blog posts, more stuff. Maybe someday, I will look back on this era and cherish the peace and quiet. Maybe I will just come back myself to read it, long after most stuff has faded away to history. 

It’s time to add another couple logs to the fire. The ceiling fan is out of balance and is ticking unpleasantly. The sun is going to break over the hill in about twenty minutes. The dogs need breakfast, and so do I. A slice of bread isn’t going to cut it today, I have a busy day ahead of me and I have more stuff to create. I am going to dig out my insulated work pants again because the winter never ends, then head outside to my tools, humming a new song under my breath. I got this…