IT'S A COLD DAY IN CROSSLAKE

                     

It’s a cold day in Crosslake this morning at -22. I walked down to the mailbox and fetched my paper around 7a.m. You could feel the air freezing up the lining of your nose. But beyond that it’s warm in the house, and for the most part, that’s where I intend to stay. Somehow though, I recognize that not everyone is at liberty to just stay in the house—that there are essential services that need attention, and someone is out there doing just that. It’s these people that I write about today.

If you think it’s cold walking 800 feet to fetch your paper, then I take you back sixty years, to a 14-year-old boy that used to deliver the paper every morning. My mother didn’t drive, and my dad was at work. Most likely, the old jalopy my dad drove wouldn’t have started, anyway. I would dress as warm as my clothing would allow, but oftentimes, it meant walking with my back into the wind, my fingers curled into fists inside of the mittens mom had knitted for me. My frozen canvas paper bag banged against my leg with every step. By the time I got home, I would have a red welt on my leg. The scarf over my mouth would become loaded with frozen vapor from my breathing, and I would keep moving it in a circular pattern around my head, looking for a dry spot. I did have a sheepskin coat that was warm, and nothing was warmer than the stocking caps mom made for us. There were times I felt sorry for myself, but then I would think of dad working outside in the railroad yards all day, or mom hanging up wet clothes on outside clotheslines.

It was New Year’s Eve 1965 now, and as firefighters, we were called out to assist another department at a high school that was on fire. It was -31 that night. We had rubber turnout gear that buckled down the front, and steel helmets with cotton liners inside.  We wore leather chopper mitts that were soaked after the first few minutes. The call came in at around midnight, and at daybreak the next morning, the fire was under control. Hoses and engines were frozen in the streets, and Steam Jennies were brought in to thaw the ice and remove them. Ladders were brought back fully extended, too full of ice to operate. You walked around with thirty pounds of ice stuck to your gear. There was a lot of frostbite, but no serious injuries.

I’m sure all of us who grew up and lived in Minnesota have our stories. I have heard the stories of soldiers, in Korea, fighting a war in the ice and snow; mountain climbers in -100 degree wind chills; a relative missing many toes that were lost in a winter walk home from school. I think we have developed a character of survivors here in the northland that much of the nation does not have. As Kelly Clarkson sings, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

Most of us older folks have got the stories, but we also have the desire to go where it is warm. No longer tied to a job, we can go out or just stay inside when it’s cold. But here is a shout-out to the lineman who keeps your electricity going, the tow truck driver who crawled under your car to hook a chain, the propane delivery person, public safety, and everyone else ­­­who keeps us safe and moving when it’s bitterly cold.