WINTER MAINTENANCE
The Isolation Blues;
reflections during covid-19
As snow mounts up in the middle of winter one of the basic backwoods maintenance jobs is shoveling the roof of any structure that holds a snow load. For us, that includes the cabin, the sauna and the privy. Our farmhouse has a steep 12-12 pitch with small dormers and no roof valleys (which tend to hold snow) so we have never had to shovel or use a roof rake. All the structures by the river originally had cedar shakes, and while that provided a natural aesthetic, it also meant additional work with snow removal. After twenty-five years of service we eventually replaced them with black sheet-metal roofing, or as we affectionately say, “The buildings got a new tin-hat…” Even with the new “automatic snow removal system” in place there are still two jobs remaining that require a shovel; removing snow from the rope bridge and clearing roof space around the stove pipe. I didn’t think it would be necessary to check on the stove pipe, but that first winter (to my surprise) I found out differently. I expected the snow to make “a big swoosh” when it suddenly let go and the snow behind the stove pipe would simply slide by the pipe on its way by. Instead, it moved more like a glacier slowly inching its way towards the edge of the roof taking everything with it as it goes, including my stove pipe! So that’s what I’m doing at the cabin today, making sure my stove pipe makes it through another Maine winter intact.
When my father had his woods camp at Harvey Siding (1950s) he skied in once a winter to shovel off the roof. He parked his vehicle beside the railroad crossing at the Siding and from there he skied to his camp at the bridge where the Meduxnekeag River crossed. Even though it was less than a mile from Harvey Siding to his camp the ski gear was nothing like it is today and I imagine it was a trudge. Once he arrived the routine was always the same; get a fire going, shovel the roof, cook a hot meal from the supplies he lugged in and then take a good nap. By the time he got back home it would just be getting dark. While the trip had a practical purpose and provided an excuse to take a day off from work, I always got the sense my Dad enjoyed the extra effort it took to accomplish the task. It was the only time my father experienced the camp and that part of the Maine woods in winter. It was also a trip into solitude – just himself, his thoughts and whatever was in his pack that he brought with him. As I am sitting here congratulating myself for keeping up with winter maintenance, I am also aware of how I’m starting to become more and more like my Dad. I think it’s time for a good nap…
In the woods,
Dave
February 17, 2022
Your last thoughts, that you are becoming more and more like your dad and “….it’s time for a good nap,” made me chuckle out loud. I’m finding the same thing about my father. When I get up out of my easy chair and take those first few steps bent over, trying to unbend and get the kinks out, I feel like I am moving like my dad, though I rarely say, “Oh, my achin’ back.” And snow on the roof. When I was upta camp in January, there was less than 6 inches of snow on the asphalt camp roof, the Sugar Shack’s tin hat, and the small barn’s tin hat, but I scraped them anyway, partly out of habit. A couple of days ago, a friend of mine called warning that there was quite a snow load now and offering to drive out the South Shore Road to clean my roofs. However, he called back later and said the road was just too icy. So, I’ll hope the trusses carry their weight at least until I return in March.