Northeaster! Frasier Arctic Outflow

When I was a kid, Northeasters were exciting. If we were lucky enough to have a real rip-snorter, school closed and the kids would have a day or two to slide on the ice, sled, build snow forts, snow men, and throw snowballs.

If we were really lucky, when the thaw came, the county engineer would close most roads to heavy vehicles. No school buses! Another day off or at least a chance to walk a mile to heavy duty pavement.

Adults don’t understand the pleasure of a few days of disruption. They shake their heads. It’s cold. Brruuhhh! The wind is a danger: trees blow down, power goes out. Water pipes freeze.

But for a kid, it’s fun. Our grandson, Dario, came over to visit this afternoon, wound up like a top, excited by the Northeaster, delighted to be knocked over and blown away by the wind, and exulted to experience a day unlike any other.

This morning, I was up at five. Good thing I was. The northeast wind was howling and the windchill readout from our backyard weather station was only five degrees. I can’t count the number of mornings I have got up to the roar of the Northeaster to discover frozen pipes or and frozen pumps.

First thing, I turned on the water in the kitchen sink. All I got was a trickle. But I kept the valve open. Within ten minutes, the ice dam dissolved, and the water ran freely. Crisis averted. For a while.

I don’t know why, but one of my cherished moments was a Northeaster in the 1980s. Rebecca and I were living in a house that shared a well and pump with my cousin Steve.

I woke up around five, the usual for me, discovered that we had no water, and went out to the pumphouse: a damp, half underground chamber. Sure enough. The pump had froze up tight. I took a minute to figure out what to do.

Before half an idea hatched, my cousin Steve came down the steps and entered the pump chamber. My cousin was a big man, both in spirit and girth. He was puffing on his pipe and he brought a propane torch.

The pumphouse filled with the sweet Cherry Blend pipe tobacco smoke Steve favored as he lit his torch and began to play the blue flame over the pump. It wasn’t long before the pump started up and we could return to our respective houses and resume normal lives before our wives woke.

What am I supposed to say about that moment? Steve and I faced the Northeaster and brought our families back to their accustomed normal. Spontaneously, each driven by our responsibilities, we worked together.

Why this makes me profoundly happy, I do not know. But I shake my head and hold back tears when I think of it. Steve died a few years ago.

In my dad’s day, keeping the dairy herd supplied with water was paramount. Milk is mostly water. Dairy cows who can’t drink their fill, don’t give their full share of milk, and milk in the tank kept the farm solvent.

Dairy farmers get to know their water supply. When the Northeaster hits the water pipes, a farmer soon learns what has to be done to keep the water flowing. I well remember holding a flashlight for Dad as he warmed the pipes with a propane torch to get the water moving into the drinking cups in the milking barn before the cows noticed they were getting thirsty.

Tedious stuff, holding a flashlight. Not a bit of romance or excitement in it for me. But I’ll bet that was not what my dad thought. My dad was not one to be scared or threatened by anything, but I think those early morning struggles against the Northeaster were for him, high drama, not tedium.

Back to reality. Never mind the drama. I neglected to keep a trickle of water flowing and somewhere between ten and twelve in the morning, while the sun shined and the Northeaster blew, our water line froze solid.

I’m working on it. Our son is working on it. Dario is having fun with it.