““Can you tell me what was wrong with it?” he said, and it was a reasonable question. The cast iron radiator was halfway in, halfway out of my truck, making its way slowly back towards its fellows, of a similar vintage, all housed in the unheated section of the warehouse. “The plumber said he tried everything ... heat .. uh ...you know...” I was unclear as to the exact mechanics of it. “But I can ask him to be more specific, if that would be helpful”. We stood for a moment, pondering the metal object. “I’d just like to know if we should junk it”, he added. I got my refund, in credit, and took home another unit, for an extra $55. Lucky for me, my carpenter friend was still there, when I arrived home. We slipped it awkwardly off my tailgate, onto a rugged plastic sled, and pulled it down the snowy path to my house, tipping it gently onto the deck, then walking it into the wood shed. If you want to engage old technology, the stages of installation are not exactly a runway of ease. No one really supports you, until its up and running. Only then, will they marvel at the efficiency with which it operates, and its overall, pleasant demeanor. People have lost touch with why older, bulky systems were developed the way they were. To enhance sensual enjoyment of simple things, like heat, without complicated, electronic controls. Anyway, I have dedicated myself, seemingly, to embracing many things that used to make sense, but are no longer in vogue. We’ll see where the trends go. And reminding myself that improvements are generally overrated, I manage to put the difficulties of my day behind for me, and go for a walk. This old-fashioned past-time, is also fraught with options. Which boots, which socks, which traction-enhancing add-ons? I’m sure I’m not the only one who feels exhausted, before even stepping out the door. I struggle with the first of two ice cleats, an ill fitting rubber gasket, studded with high performance steel pins, impossibly unrelated to the shape of my muck boot. This, performed twice, hardly seems worth the effort. But we don’t know anything, and still, we forge on. I’ve learned not to trust this familiar sense of despair. Humans are nothing, if not above their current station, this much I do know. And the day glistens with promise. Blue skies, a thing I remember from my youth, and still believe in, before me. A mountain to climb. A radiator debacle, to put behind me. The snow path curls upwards, past Rachel’s driveway, which I almost mistake for the Catamount Trail. Realizing my error, I veer back onto the hard pack of many skis reduced to a scraping stop, before the sanded road. A dog’s footprints, traces of powder on the edge of the funnel. Using regular feet, I trudge on, perhaps as Lewis and Clark would have done, on a bad day, flooded with a number of deja vus. We won’t know who we have been, not for a while yet. In this twilight meantime, the piercing joys of being outdoors will never succumb nor the abilities we still may possess cease to move us into uncharted territory. It seems important to map things now, on the off chance we may circle back, and be allowed to go even further, into the things we love. My hills keep me alive. I stop to look across the deep cut ravine of the nearest wild brook, towards a statuesque outcropping of signature conifers. They seem to signal a turn, or bastion of sorts, that indicates a changing of the guard. Few will see the doorway, the access, to hidden realms, without wanting it or timing it correctly. I won’t be able to explore those upper reaches today. I can only go off the trodden path until drifts make further progress, impassable. However, I seem to have slipped past the Forest Service’s erect “Wilderness” sign, without much fanfare. The beauteous arc of one lone ski track falling down off rock ledges, has led me to a precipice. I can now see a second sentinel of vigilant conifers. The awesome strength of winter is something I can hardly fathom, nor contain. Turning back in disappointment, I make mental notes that will be key to my successful return. Or are they emotional notes. I feel everything that I can feel being unnoticed in a place I must leave. The sorrow is built into us, this sorrow of necessity, of return.”
