I am guilty of taking many things in my world for granted, and one of them is warmth. Over the past three weeks or so, we have been wrestling with bitter, unforgiving cold weather. My house is warm. My car is warm. My office is warm. My clothing is sufficient. I sort of “skate” right along day by day, never entertaining the thought that there are those among us who are not as fortunate.
When did I forget my childhood and the days and nights spent with my grandparents and Uncle Billie? I would press myself against my grandmother’s back as we lie beneath a mound of blankets, quilts and winter coats; listening to Jack Frost pound his frozen fist against the house’s ragged exterior. Their three-room house had little if any insulation and by the time the early dawn chased the darkness away, I could see traces of my breath hovering above me. I would rise slowly then, reluctant to leave the safety of the bed and that guaranteed warmth. My grandparents and Uncle Billie had gotten up much earlier and I knew that toast made from my grandmother’s homemade bread awaited me; golden brown and smothered with sweet butter. One of them had stepped outside and gathered water from the rain barrel; breaking through its thick ice covering with a hammer. That water was heating on the stove and would be used for my morning sponge bath, for there was no running water in the house.
These memories consumed me as I drove back to my office from Ashland, where I had been visiting with an older couple in their home. Upon entering the house, I was immediately aware of the lack of sufficient heat. The couple was dressed in layers and tightly rolled newspapers were tucked around windows and doors throughout the home. They were great conversationalists and my visit was pleasant. Because I did not remove my coat, they asked me if I was at all chilly. I admitted that I was just a little cool and they apologized.
They shared with me that for the past four years, they had struggled with the cost of fuel to the point of making great sacrifices. Their woodstove had been declared unsafe by the fire marshal and their fireplace needed to be serviced. In addition to this, they told me they could not afford to buy wood anyway. When I asked them, very tactfully, if they had applied for fuel assistance, they both chuckled. “That funding is for those who need it,” the gentleman said. “There are others out there much worse off than we are.”
We said our good-byes, hugged, and I promised them I would be in touch soon. As I drove away, chilled to the bone, my first inclination was to crank up my car’s heater to the absolute max, but I hesitated. I usually gave little thought to turning up the heat in my home when the temperature plummeted. While the Ashland couple happily compensated for their limited fuel supply, I did not. My grandparents lived simply, with little fluff, and my own parents vowed their children would never want for anything and we did not.
Spending time with Grammie, Grampy and Uncle Billie was a priceless lesson in being blessed with strength, integrity, humility, and grit. Meeting the Ashland couple was a gentle and effective reminder of that lesson.
Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives Connor TWP with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
