ESSAY

Miso barrels in the snow

By John Gathright

The radio predicts snow and the Gathright family smiles. There is nothing like snowfall and treehouses. The house becomes an island in a sea of white and fluffy futon-like snow, and I love the peace and quiet that settles on a forest, as the animals and trees snuggle up tight in the calm of this marshmallow world.

My wife and I curl up in our favorite chairs, enjoying the bliss of being cut off from the busy world outside. The smell of hot chocolate and the crackle of our woodstove make our eyes droopy with sleep. Our two sons sit contentedly by the window watching the snowflakes fall and contemplating the mysteries of nature.

Sounds too good to be true, doesn't it, like a scene out of a movie? Want to know what it's really like? In reality, we get dumped on by tons of solidified water and life at the treehouse goes totally crazy!

Heavy snow is beautiful, but it can also be disastrous too. Trees are lucky if they escape with only a few limbs lost, but some of them sadly fall under the weight of the snow, bringing havoc to our little village. Trees can bring down power lines and telephone lines, and they can fall across roads and against our treehouse. Freezing winds and exposed pipes make for a lethally explosive combination as the pipes erupt under our home. Experience has taught us to be fast in the freeze. We have learned to wrap pipes faster than it takes for a snowflake to melt on your tongue.

Living on the top of a mountain means we have a great view, but come winter, it also means roads are closed and driving is out. In the early hours, around dawn, the locals don helmet flashlights and armed with shovels and brooms they try and clear the village lifeline - the trail to the train station and the only link to the city.

Being one of the very few young males in our village, I have had to learn to adjust to the work ethic of an aging society, i.e., one guy on the shovel and four senior citizens giving advice from the sidelines. The 3-kilometer walk is hard work in itself, not to mention clearing the snow, but inevitably we're also called to rescue some city slicker in summer tires who ignored the "Road Closed" sign and ended up in a snow bank.

I usually stumble home, exhausted and frozen, to be greeted by two very hyper boys. "Too much snow!" they shout. "No school! Let's play!" Part of me wants to say, "Sorry, guys, but I'm too tired. I'ｖe been up since dawn and my 40-year-old body is not up to snowmen, snowball fights and sleighing!" But, being the biggest kid in the family, I can't say no.

We search through the house for anything smooth and plastic that is big enough to sit on. We then head to the hills to slip, slide and crash,laughing as we whiz about the snow. Having boys is great! They give middle-aged men the excuse to ride garbage-can lids through the middle of the village, screaming and yelling in wild and outlandish (fake) furs. The perks of being a dad!

Then my mobile phone rings! Further up the mountain, there is an elderly lady who's been snowed in and needs rescuing. This is the part that we love the most. Three snow crazies instantly become snow heroes. Going where no car can go, we trudge through the snow to deliver hot drinks and food to the elderly damsel in distress. We are the Saint Bernards of our village.

And then, finally, we're back at home, absolutely exhausted from work, play and saving the day. The woodstove is lit, our mugs are filled with hot chocolate, and our favorite chairs are waiting for us. Life in the Miso Barrel Treehouse is never slow, and in the winter it's frantic, but no matter how busy, there's always a time here when we can kick up our feet and relax.

Shukan ST: Feb. 11, 2005

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