Cabin fever season has begun. It is that moment when the beauty of a winter wonderland ceases. Snow shoes on and two steps later one is hip deep in snow. There remain multiple inches of snow everywhere.
Leaving an intersection is dicey. Where does one put yet one more shovel of white stuff? Then there is the itch.
The Itch starts around the waist near to the wallet spot. Small, fleeting, barely noticeable. Usually worth only a half-hearted scratch, grunt, and gasp of relief — that felt good. But the days become longer. Sun shines. Sap runs. The air seems fresher. And yet, acres of white, more on the way and not many signs that winter is leaving. Twenty minutes are spent in the morning argument with one’s coffee. By the time you have given it a decent dressing down it is like an old girlfriend: cold.
The blathering idiots on the television seem more idiotic than normal and the infomercials are looking like they might be entertaining. Bankers dread this for the worry that one’s money is going to leave the bank and still create exasperated customers wondering where the money went. And the itch now comes back and lodges in the middle of the back where the arms, fingers and feet can not reach. And it begins to burn.
Daylight-saving time comes along. It causes a loss of sleep as the hibernation gene is encouraged to leave. That down coat that welcomed the cold now seems to be nothing more than a straitjacket on the body, making one look like a worm on steroids. And the itch grows.
Garden catalogs now threaten the health and safety of postal workers. Forklifts are employed on a customer-by-customer basis to load the mailbox with all sorts of fancy pictures of exotic vegetables, fruits, and trees. Scents of fresh maple syrup are on the wind. The britches are getting tight, That stack of pancakes looks delicious and the itch gets worse. Now it is running down the legs and up the arms. Scratching becomes an art. Door frames take the brunt of the attack.
Local clothing stores begin to put out the shorts, sandals and bikini collections. Hardware stores and tractor shops find their phones ringing off the hook as customers seek relief. Early orders of chicks and ducks begin to appear. Adorable. Cows, sows, mares and ewes are getting testy as they await the new offspring. They get itchy and twitchy. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch. One’s neighbor begins to look like a boiled lobster and still no relief for cabin fever. The diner now offers scratching sticks with every order and the sound of scratching becomes the latest hit band on Fireman Fred’s turntables. Itch. ITch. ITCh. ITCH! Scratch it.
No end in sight just yet. Grin and bear it. The long underwear is now sticking to the skin and triage units are being set up at the hospital. Creams, unguents, pungents and astringents are sought out for some sort of relief. The days are getting longer and warmer and still the itch continues. It is the time of spring fever. Yet spring seems so far away. The itch has now developed its own personality and one finds that it can talk.
Soon the white stuff will disappear, tree buds will get larger and there will be sounds of diesels revving up. Spring is coming. Just gotta scratch that itch and start the plants.
Orpheus Allison is a photojournalist living in The County who graduated from UMPI and earned a master of liberal arts degree from the University of North Carolina. He began his journalism career at WAGM television, later working in many different areas of the US. After 20 years of television he changed careers and taught in China and Korea.
