Lincoln County News | Newcastle, ME
Monday, July 25, 2016 Serving Maine and Lincoln County for over a century. Volume 141 Issue 27

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1/22/2014 2:00:00 PM
Back Talk From The Back House
By Nancy Wilson


Oh what a beautiful morning
Sunday, Jan. 19: It is so beautiful out there I can hardly bear it. Of course, my best friends hate me, because they hate the snow, but you already know that I love it, and you already know I used to do quite a bit of skiing.

Although I no longer ski, I still appreciate its beauty, especially when it looks the way it does today...heavy flakes coming down; the trees attired in a heavy white blanket, looking like a real winter wonderland. True, I don't have to plow or dig, but I doubt that that would make any difference in the way I feel about it; I still love it, and I wish that I could still play in it.

I can still look at it, however, and admire it, and take pictures of it for my cousin in Florida and my friends in Panama, who never see it there. I can at least remind them of what they are missing.

This morning's snow also reminded me of the time when I was living in the yurt. Up there in the western mountains of Maine, not far from Sugarloaf, the winter snowfall was much heavier than it is here. (The yurt was also magical when it was covered with snow.)

I drove a Chevy Blazer at that time; a four-wheel drive machine that would take me just about anywhere. One winter day, I was driving down my logging road out to the road, going somewhere, I don't remember where. Near the bottom of the hill, fortunately above the brook, the car slid off the road and hung to one side, tilted on two wheels. I couldn't move it, four-wheel drive notwithstanding.

I stood beside it a few minutes, scratching my head, wondering what I was going to do about it; walk back up to the yurt to call a tow truck, or walk up the hill to my neighbor's, to ask him to come down with his tractor to free me.

All of a sudden, I heard the roar of engines from behind me, and then what looked like all the snowmobilers in the whole world went by.

'They're not even going to stop to help me,' I thought.

They drove down to the main road, stopped, and in one motion hopped off their machines. Not saying a word, they went over to the down side of my car, picked it up bodily, and put it back on the road. I thanked them profusely, but they still said nothing.

They just jumped on their snowmobiles again and rode away across the road; into the woods on the other side.



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