4 Phases

My day today moved in four phases. All of them revolve around the five inches or so of snow we recieved in Adams County today.

In the first phase, I was across town walking to my brother's to get my car. I saw two interesting people on the way there. I passed the first person on the sidewalk. he was a very old man, hollow faced and mouse eyed. He was cradling a bucket in one arm. As I got closer to him, I saw that he was sprinkling rock salt on the sidewalk. All up and down the street.

The man couldn't have been younger than seventy-five, but he had his bucket and he had his street and he had a sense of civic duty. I told him hi but as soon as we passed I wished I had given him a hug or something.

The next person I saw was a small child, maybe two, all bundled up like a puppy in the mail. A man was pulling him down the street on a sled, so I provided the following dialogue for him:

"Are we going to Granma's house? I-I suwe wite Granma's house. She gives me hot cocoa. Fants for tating me outside. I wite du snow."

Kid was adorable.

The next phase involved an interview with a nice elderly couple who are retired from their own winery and restaraunt business. They live 30 miles away, along the river, which made for a slow, tense drive. When I arrived, they were wearing identical white turtlenecks and red vests. The first thing the man said to me was "We don't normally dress together like this. I put this on this morning then she did the same thing."

They felt foolish and each thought the other should change clothes.

After the interview, they took me to the restaraunt and treated me to a dolphin fish entree. Not really dolphin, but I'm led to believe it tastes the same. If this is true, my friends, I predict the extinction of the dolphin in our lifetime. Or else large commercial dolphin farms.

This was the most succulent fish I have ever eaten. And I've succuled the hell out of some fish.

The Third pahase of my day started like this:

The dinner made me late for my next appointment, but I thought they would understand, because it was snowing quite a bit by then.

The next interview was with a couple about their septic tank business. The man told me it was the first driveway on my right, and it was. Except this wasn't so much a driveway, as it was a goat path up the side of a frozen mountain. I didn't know there were mountains in Adams County; this one wasn't on any of the maps. But here it was.

I fancy myself a pretty good driver. Most of you probably do, too. I know I'm not great--one of my weaknesses is bad weather. But still, I looked at that steep, icy, guardrail-less slope and I thought--yes. I can do this.

So I started up it,a nd at first things were great. I pushed that baby into second gear and we were a-thundering up the hill. Then, well, yeah. That kind of stopped. And instead my poor little front wheel drive tires lose traction, adn I slip backward.

I don't panic.

I do break, yes, but only to carefully guide myself down the hill. Well, turns out that doesn't work either. I start sliding backwards and sideways. Toward the side of the road without guardrails. The bad side. The high insurance premiums side. The "we are gathered here to remember Ryan" side.

I did get the car to a halt, just at the edge. I didn't really know what to do, so I said the f-word a lot. And I staretd throwing stuff into my bag. My first thoughts were for the material I needed to write my articles. So the camera, the tape recorder--everything of value that could be carried--was thrown into my man-purse.

I threw on my scarf and mittens and started up the hill, leaving my hobbles car tettering off the bank. It was quite a walk up the hill. It turns out that I was nowhere near the steep part. I fell down twice going up, each time landing so I wouldn't hurt the camera. My heart was pounding--remember, a few minutes ago I was teetering over a cliff.

When I finally reached the front door (a half hour late) a cheery man greeted me at the door. He was a lot bigger than me--even with my winter coats. This is the best way to describe the portions:

Remember when you were in grade school, and they said that so many million Earths would fit into Jupiter? Well, about 55 Earths would fit into this guy.

"Did you make it up the hill?"

"Nowhere near." I hoped he couldn't see how razzled I was. he led me upstairs and we went on with the interview. And for the next half hour or so, we talked about septic tanks. The whole thing turned out to be a lot more interesting than I thought it would be.

My hand shook the whole time.

Then I took a couple pictures and the man told me he'd meet me at the car with the Bobat and salt rock.

Hell yeah.

He meets me part of the way down and tells me to hop on the plow of the bobcat. This was an immense amount of fun. His little dog Sprocket, who normally stays on his shoulder like a parrot, hops onto my lap and thrusts his nose forward like the statue on the helm of a boat.

We had just started sprinkling salt around my tires (I say we because he sprinkled the salt and I aske dif he needed help) when a truck pulls up behind us.

"Friends of yours?" I ask.

He sort of shrugged and didn't seemed concerned with the visitor, one way or the other.

A springly little, probably in his forties, bounces out of the truck. He seemed a little slow, but talked fast. Here is the jist of everything he said:

"Hey saw you up on the hill there. Didn't know if that was your car or not. You need a tow chain? I got a tow chain. Salt around the tires, yup, traction. Didn't even have to call me, did you? That's what good neighbors are. We're freinds and we watch out for each other, right? That's what friends do; they do theings for each other."

Once the car was freed, I could safely back it down, with the man directing me as I went. He stood behind the car, walking the path straight down the road, so I could gauge how far Iw as from each side. In my horros I saw the wheels locking up and sliding down over his body. I wondered whcih would be more damaged: him, or my car?

Fourth Phase

I was lucky enough to drive behind a salt truck on the way home. I also had to move my bowels. Very badly. But I couldn't waste the ease of being behind a salt truck. When he turned off, so did I.

I was in a line of cars that didn't go above thirtyMPH on the way home. Iw as fine with that, until we hit Jack Town Hill. The van leading our line crawled up the hill, tapping his breaks like a sewing pedal. All I could see was my car freezing up, dopping traction, and sliding down the hill like a basketball.

Now back in my hometown, after seven hours, I enjoyed the comforts of home. I had a beer. Ate dinner with my brother's family. Played video games. Went to a friend's house with other friends. Had another beer. And another. One friend was depressed about something.

He eventually told us fuck you and left, and hung up on me when I called him to see if he made it home okay.

He had an off day, but I think he'll be all right. Another hour and I was home again.

And tomorrow I'm going to play in the snow with little kids.