Where did the winter go?!
By Andrew Smith

Did ya ever notice how you never see anyone shaking their head sadly and asking, "Where did the winter go?" You see people asking, "Where did the summer go?!" Or, "Where did my wife go?!" Or even, "Where did the beer go?!" (Your wife took it), but you never hear anyone complaining about the departure of Old Man Winter.

We don't care where winter goes, as long as it's far from here, and he stays a long time. In fact, I'm trying to imagine how long winter would have to stay away before I'd begin to miss it. More than a short Black Hills summer, that's for sure.

But it looks like the Old Man is coming back for another visit-just in time for cold and flu season, too.

I look forward to the return of winter like I look forward to finding half of something with legs on it in my bowl of soup. You just swallow and get it over with. But that doesn't exactly mean you love spiders.

Speaking of spiders, I found one crawling on our wall the other night. I'm not a big killer of bugs. I mean, everybody's got to be somewhere. So I just flicked the spider off the wall, figuring he could go do his spidering in a less conspicuous location. But what he did was fall into my wife's jeans, which were hanging on a hook below him. I shook the jeans, but he didn't want to come out.

So here's my question. Should you upset your wife by telling her that you flicked a spider into her pants? Or do you keep the peace and figure (pray) it will be long gone by morning? Man, what a deep question! Kept me awake half the night. And since it's almost winter, it was a long night too.

I've heard people who claim they like winter. Such people usually talk about things like reading in front of a glowing fire, singing Christmas carols, the beauty of a snowy morning from their kitchen window and sharing a drink with friends after skiing.

While such pastimes may sound like the enjoyment of winter, closer examination reveals that they are, in fact, a deep avoidance of winter. Read the above paragraph again. People who like winter spend their time reading, singing, staring out the window and drinking. Sounds like the kinds of things you do on a slowly sinking oceanliner, doesn't it?

Did you ever hear anyone say they liked summer because they can stay inside and read? No! People who like summer, like it because they can go outside and do things in it. People who like summer actually go outside and remove all, or most, of their clothes, just to enjoy it more. Try that in winter!

Alright, I've done that. One time, I used to like winter. We cut a hole through the ice up on Silver Lake, in New Hampshire. It was about two feet thick. At midnight on New Years Eve we stripped down and jumped through the ice, so we could be the first swimmers in Silver Lake that year. It must've been about four degrees out. The funny thing is, your body reacts to the shock by kicking on the heaters. So you can stand out there naked and dripping wet, with the wind howling around you, and feel perfectly warm. For a little while anyway.

But that was a long time ago. I can't remember the last time I took my clothes off to be closer to snow and freezing cold. I certainly have no intention of doing so this year. Well, maybe once or twice. But I'll drink afterwards to blot it from my memory. And sing "Nearer My God To Thee."

But when I was a kid, I loved winter. I don't know what happened. I used to run a trap line for muskrats every winter. I loved going out there and checking those traps! The colder and wetter it was, the better I liked it! And if I could engineer it so I had to stand up to my kidneys in freezing water for a few minutes, or even just plain fall headfirst into the muck, so much the better. There was no enjoyment more sublime than staggering a couple miles through the corn stubble with my pants frozen stiff as boards, my hair a solid icicle from congealed breath and my fingers so numb they wouldn't work anymore. That, to me, was practically ecstasy. I loved the cold bite of the wind driving tears into my eyes. The only bad thing about it was that eventually I'd have to go back inside.

My favorite time in the winter was dusk. I loved the graceful etchings of winter-bare trees against white fields and diamond bright horizons. I loved the hair thin crescent of the new moon cutting the icy evening sky. I loved breath, floating in the still air. Dusk was when the day settled into night and the red rimmed sky slowly sank into unimaginably deep space. Boy the stars were bright!

Not anymore. Nowadays when I look out on a cold winter morning I find myself secretly looking for excuses to stay inside. "Couldn't I just drink, sing and stare out the window today?" I'll ask myself. Unfortunately, such winter enjoyments are not my fate. At least, not until sweetheart forgets about the spider in her pants and lets me sleep inside again.

Until then, I'll just wear my big boots, and my turtlenecks, and my mittens and stay outside. Lucky it's cold out here, 'cause the bologna sandwiches she made me won't go stale for a couple weeks yet. And boy the stars are bright!